Taming of the Lady
by Libertiney
Summary: Grace Cornwallis came to the colonies for adventure, but her Grandfather, Lord Cornwalis, has other ideas. Enter a certain Dragoon Colonel used to getting his own way ... Please Read and Review
1. A Battle Of Wills

As Colonel Tavington dismounted his horse in front of the large manor which housed General Cornwallis, he spotted something which made his eyes narrow. The manor was surrounded by grass fields followed by acres of woodland, and far in the distance he had caught sight of the bright pink dress of General Cornwallis' Granddaughter, who appeared to be scaling a tree.

'Take my horse,' he said to a nearby stable hand.

'Yes Sir,' said the boy, his hands shaking slightly as he took the reins – the Colonel was well known for his quick temper.

'Put him in the stable and clean my saddle: Be extremely careful, he added carelessly, 'if you so much as scratch the leather with a fingernail then I will personally thrash you with a horsewhip in the morning'.

'Yes, sir,' said the now terrified boy, hurrying away and wishing with all his heart that someone else had greeted the Colonel.

After removing his tall black helmet and riding gloves and placing them in his top pocket the Colonel made his way over to the tree which Grace had now disappeared into, which was a good half a mile away and a most irritating journey to make through the waist-high grass in the hot evening sun.

'Get down Miss Grace,' he commanded as he reached the tall tree which he had spotted her in. 'Immediately!' There was a slight rustling but she did not emerge. Tavington felt his impatience grow. It had been a hard, forgettable, day fighting the militia. He had lost several men and was saddle –sore and dusty. His regal looking nose and defined cheeks were blistered by the sun, marring the smooth bronze complexion which made him so attractive to the pale ladies from England. His usually impeccable sleek brown hair, which was caught behind his head with a leather thong, was looking distinctly tangled, and his impressive green dragoon tunic was rumpled: he was in no mood to play games with a mere child.

'I said, get down! I know you are up there and you would be wise to obey.'

There was more rustling and this time a young girl of sixteen dropped from the top branch of the tree directly in front of the Colonel. Her skirts were stained with the soil of the plantation and were torn in several places and her long blonde hair was decorated with twigs. She had a tatty book in her hand, which the Colonel had seen her flick through several times under the table at dinner, and she was looking defiantly at the him, her dark eyes glistening in the sun. She also had the air of a small child who had been caught with her hand in a biscuit tin, as her pale cheeks were tinged with pink and her breath was quick.

'What do you think you're doing Miss Grace?' he said with scorn.

'I hardly think that is any of your concern,' she replied, after taking a deep breath.

'Climbing a tree like an urchin or a gypsy?' he said, ignoring her, 'What will your grandfather say?' Grace looked him directly in the eye.

'I repeat again that this is hardly your concern.' Tavington resisted the urge to agree with Cornwallis's granddaughter. It was true that she was not really his concern; but Cornwallis despaired of his young ward so much that he instructed the men to keep a close eye on her. Any unruly behaviour was to be reported to him at once – and Tavington would certainly not be looked upon favourably if he did not bring her down from the tree and back inside the confines of the grounds.

Grace was a handful for anyone. Cornwallis had allowed her to accompany him to America to escape the scorn of England. Her mother, also called Grace, had been his youngest daughter. When she was sixteen, she had gotten herself into trouble with a married man and Grace had been the result. The elder Grace Cornwallis had died in childbirth (probably for the best, people thought), but on her deathbed she had made her father promise to look after the child. Of course, society being what it was Grace's parentage was a poorly kept secret. Cornwallis had hoped that the American shore would give them both a new start, and when the war was over he planned to set her up in the new American society of landowners. However, Grace did not make it easy for her Grandfather. She had her mother's spirit and ran quite wild about the plantation. Cornwallis had employed a governess to accompany them from England to instruct Grace in things he thought young ladies should know – such as music and art – but most days she escaped her lessons, borrowing a horse from the stables to go tearing around the countryside, or sitting in trees reading poetry or novels which were shipped to the manor from England every three months.

Tavington thought privately that Grace was a spoilt brat who needed taking in hand – but Cornwallis seemed to have a weak spot for her which made him reluctant to chastise her. She was sixteen now, and it was time for her to begin to behave as a lady; but with her mother dead, and surrounded by male company, she had grown as far from a lady as some of the redcoat corporals – soldiers who, maddeningly, appeared to find Grace quite charming, and often encouraged her to behave like a wild cat when they knew Cornwallis was not around. The more refined residents of the manor whispered behind Cornwallis's back about the wiseness of his tendency to spoil his granddaughter: after all, they said, it had been her mother's defiant spirit which had caused her downfall. Some of the 'society' women, including several old (and in Grace's opinion decrepit) spinsters often chided her, and encouraging to act 'more like her cousins', Eliza and Jane, who also lived in the manor with their father Henry Ederick, (their mother having died of scarlet fever several years ago), who had a commission as a first lieutenant in the Green Dragoons, serving under Tavington.

'If there's nothing else,' Grace said now, sticking out her chin, 'perhaps you will return to your business and allow me to return to mine. I have not asked for your interference and I do not appreciate it – in fact I find it quite contemptible.'

It took all Tavington's restraint to prevent himself from striking the impudent girl. He was a Lieutenant Colonel in the army and he expected the proper deference and obedience due to him. He did not put up with insolence, and particularly he did not put up with insolence from women, whom he usually found to be quite in awe of his rank and stature. He thought absentmindedly of the whip that he had relinquished to the stable hand with his horse. He felt sure that this girl would benefit immensely from a good whipping - unfortunately, however, she was the General's granddaughter.

'Come now, Miss Grace,' he said through gritted teeth, 'You know that I cannot possibly allow you to remain outside of the grounds. The militia could have us under surveillance, and the Granddaughter of Lord Cornwallis would be a high prize indeed.'

Grace suppressed a grin. She had heard tales of Tavington's quick temper and ruthless command and knew from the fire in his usually cold eyes that he was forcing himself into great measures of self-control.

'I am quite capable of seeing myself back to the manor,' she said evenly. Tavington appeared to lose some of his patience.

'I insist,' he replied bluntly, his eyes now glinting with danger. 'You have been told, several times I believe, about wandering off alone. Lord Cornwallis would be most displeased to find that you have escaped your governess again. I _will _escort you back to the manor.'

'Oh, will you?' she said, now with slight amusement, 'and pray enlighten me, do you often take ladies against their will?' Grace was now enjoying their exchange. The stories she had heard had also conveyed rumours of Tavington's reputation as a cad. She had even heard the older women whisper that he had had his way with some of the colonial women in the villages that he had had burned, and though, perhaps, she was a little young to fully understand the magnitude of such things, the stories, aswell as well as making her blood run cold, provided her with a strange feeling of excitement (perhaps it was because the tales she usually heard were dull), and convinced her that this man was dangerous. It felt good to have him at a disadvantage.

Tavington raised a dark, sculpted eyebrow. He was slightly taken aback at the young girl's casual reference to things that she should know little about. He knew that she was an illegitimate, and that her mother had been a whore, but she had had the breeding of a lady. That aside, however, and General's daughter or not, he was not about to let a girl speak to him in such a manor.

'I would ask you to remember to whom you speak, Miss Grace,' he said, coldly. 'I am an officer in the British army.' Grace rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth to retort that she was not the least bit disturbed by his rank, but as she looked directly at him she saw something in his face which made her stop. She didn't know quite what it was - perhaps it was the cold fury in his eyes, or the steeliness of his jaw - but she was suddenly very aware that she was alone with a man, who, from the stories she had heard, may not be a gentleman, and she had the immediate urge to return to the manor. The Colonel seemed to sense her hesitation.

'I have no desire to put you over my shoulder, Miss Grace,' he continued, as his resolve for politeness slipped, 'but the night is drawing in and it is unsafe for you to be in the grounds – and I will if you refuse to accompany me.'

Grace felt her cheeks redden. She knew that she had pushed her advantage too far. It was quite plausible that he would carry out his threat, and just the idea of being in that close a proximity to this man made her shiver.

'That will not be necessary, Sir,' she said, in as indifferent tone as she could, 'I was about to return to the manor directly before you arrived.' Tavington's lips curled with derision, noting the way in which she now addressed him as 'Sir'.

'Very well then, let us take our leave.'

They walked back through the high yellow grass of the parched fields towards the vast, ornate manor that housed the General, his family and some of their associates from England. The Colonel strides were long and fast and he watched with some satisfaction as Grace struggled, slightly out of breath, to keep up with his step.

Tavington pondered silently over the events of the day. There had been a hard battle in the woods that morning and he wasn't sure that when he made his report to the General that he would be too pleased with the outcome. The "Ghost" had obviously ordered his men to attack the British troops from the top officers down the ranks, and before the Dragoons could arrive, scattering the less equipped militia, the redcoats had lost several good men. What annoyed Tavington most, however, was that, just as his reputation suggested, the "Ghost" and his men were able to disappear quite completely into mid-air, and it was therefore proving impossible for him to exact retaliation. The time was becoming rife for more underhand tactics, but Tavington knew that it would not be so easy to persuade Cornwallis and his code of gentility that they were necessary.

'Are you going to tell Grandfather that I was out of the grounds?' Grace cut in to interrupt his thoughts.

'What?' Tavington snapped. He turned to look at Grace. She still wore an air of indifference, but he knew that she was probably more than a little concerned that he would give her away to Lord Cornwallis. It was perhaps not surprising. He had heard the General threaten on several occasions now that he would punish his Granddaughter severely if she was to disobey him again - though he had so far been extremely reticent to carry out his threat; he seemed to think it indecent to admit his Granddaughter in the least bit unruly.

'You are not deaf, Sir,' she said casually – though he noticed that she was watching him very carefully.

'Yes,' Tavington said, curtly, pleased to see the flicker of infuriation which passed over her face. 'Lord Cornwallis has asked to be informed of any – disobedience.'

Grace folded her arms, indignant at being referred to as though she was a small child. At sixteen, nearly seventeen, she considered herself a young woman, and couldn't see why her Grandfather insisted on treating her like she needed constant supervision. She didn't see why she should be confined to the grounds, or why she should have to put up with hours of dull lessons a day; much less why she needed the entire British battalion to be her keepers.

When Grace's Grandfather had suggested to her that she accompany him to the American colonies she had jumped at the chance to experience a different life. She was sick of the endless boring tea-parties and small talk of London; the gossip, sniping and parlour room dramas that the women there attempted to fill their empty lives, and heads, with. She knew, also, that the other 'society' women would always treat her with a certain contempt. As much as her Grandfather liked to pretend that her father was a nobleman, killed in battle shortly after she was conceived, she had known since the age of ten what her real circumstance was. The less-than-forgiving girls in her fancy boarding school had taunted her to distraction over her 'wicked' and 'immoral' mother. Though it did not bother her to have had a rogue for a father, she had gotten into endless scrapes defending the honour of her mother and in the end her Grandfather had been asked to withdraw her from the school – which did not sit very well with the circles in which Lord Cornwallis's moved, and had seemed to confirm to all the prying ladies and their offspring that she was of 'thoroughly bad blood'. Her Grandfather seemed to think that somewhere on the journey between England and the colonies her temperament would have changed – that she would become gracious and refined - and he certainly seemed to be disappointed that she was still as restless here as she had been in England.

The problem was that life in the colonies, apart, perhaps, from the weather and the landscape, was not that different to her life at home. There were still 'society' woman, who had travelled from England, and with them they had brought the pointless etiquette and chit-chat that Grace was so desperate to escape. In fact, any hope Grace had of adventure had dissipated as soon as she saw the manor in which she would be living; it was almost identical to the country house in which she spent her long, dull summers in Surrey, and so remote from the war that she had hardly even heard a single gun blast in the entire six months that she had been there. She was hungry for adventure and had taken to escaping the humdrum of the manor to go and look for it; borrowing one of the younger horses to explore, or losing herself in a book. She certainly had no remorse for the simple act of climbing a tree, but, as she was extremely reluctant to admit to Tavington, she was anxious for her Grandfather not to find out that she had disobeyed him again; she had had a very unpleasant interview with him the week before after one of the men had caught her riding near to the brush trying to find a sign of battle, and she did not really relish the prospect of repeating it today. She sighed. They were nearly at the house and she knew that this would be her last opportunity to try and persuade him to keep quiet about where he had found her before they would all meet at dinner.

'Sir,' she said, in the most well-bred manner that she could muster, 'I would be most sincerely grateful if you would exercise discretion. My grandfather does so worry, quite unnecessarily of course, about me, I wouldn't wish to agitate him further – I'm sure that he has a lot in his mind, what with the militia advancements.'

Colonel Tavington, however, was not fooled. He was used to everyone from the stable hands to the lower ranking Dragoons concocting excuses to attempt to pardon themselves from his disfavour. He had the ability to spot sincerity and he was not about to let Grace get away with the disrespect she had shown him before simply by pretending that she had her Grandfather's best interests at heart. In any case her casual reference to 'militia advancements' rankled with him –

'I am afraid that that will be quite impossible, Miss Grace,' he said, smiling, as if apologetically. 'I have my orders, I'm sure you'll understand. Perhaps General Cornwallis will be able teach you to exercise more caution in the future – after all it's certainly not safe for you to be wandering around with, as you put it, "militia advancements".' Grace coloured slightly; she hadn't been able to resist a dig about the Colonel's seeming inability to control the militia, but it seemed to have cost her dearly.

'Of course, I'm sure you will be able to suppress the militia,' she added quickly. 'The one that they call 'Ghost' is obviously a coward – to hide in the shadows.' This did not, however, appease Tavington, who was stung that even a sixteen year old girl had heard of the existence of the "Ghost" who was causing him such humiliation.

'Perhaps you should leave talk of the war to those who know something about it, Miss Grace,' Tavington said, condescendingly. They had arrived at the manor and Grace knew that she was being dismissed. 'Now do you need me to deliver you to your governess, or do you think you can manage to find the way yourself?'

'I am perfectly capable, thank you,' she said, some of her anger returning. 'Good day, Sir.' Tavington smiled.

'Oh, good day Miss Grace' he drawled, '– I shall see you at dinner,' he added, with a maddening smile. Grace pulled a face and left without another word. Feeling some of his frustration relieved by the victory over this young girl, Tavington made his way up the sweeping staircase to his chambers, with every intention of having a long hot bath before dinner and before he even thought about making a report to the Colonel about the day's battle.


	2. Dinner with a Lord

Grace dressed carefully for dinner. She wore a white high cut dress decorated with pink rosebuds and a matching pink shawl and twisted her long blonde hair back into a low bun at the nape of her neck in the hope that it would make play to her youthful innocence. As she descended the staircase she was met by her two older cousins, Eliza and Jane, who frowned at her with a disapproval that Grace thought would be fitting on a pair of old maids.

'Where did you get to today, Grace?' Eliza said, the lines in her large forehead wrinkling like crevices in a dried-out ravine and her long proud nose tilted up as though there was a bad smell underneath it. She was the eldest of the three at nineteen and she seemed to think that this gave her some authority over her youngest cousin.

'Nowhere, Eliza, why?' Grace said.

'Well you weren't with Miss Hinny because she was looking for you in the parlour when Jane and I were entertaining Miss Stanley and Miss Harrow. Honestly Grace, you think you'd be pleased to have such an able governess to instruct you how to be a lady.' Grace had no response for this and so she said nothing. 'Shouldn't she Jane?' Eliza pressed. Jane, who was only slightly older at seventeen, looked towards Grace with scorn. She was the youngest sibling of the Ederick family and was quite spoiled. She had never taken to Grace because she could see that her looks far surpassed her own and Eliza's, who were, to put it bluntly, plain.

'I don't believe that Grace has an interest in being a lady,' Jane said shortly, tossing her mass of dull mousy hair out of her pale blue eyes and ignoring the scandalised look on Eliza's face.

'Oh do be quiet, Jane,' Grace said irritably, 'Just because I didn't wish to spend a beautiful day stuck inside learning how to cross-stitch or play the flute does not mean that I do not wish to be a lady.'

'Of course she does,' said Eliza, as though the thought that a young girl could want anything else was unfathomable. 'Though I do think you could act more like it, Grace. I'm sure I saw you riding without your gloves the other day, and your horse was definitely going faster than a canter.'

'Oh dear,' said Grace, in mock horror, 'better make sure that it doesn't get out then, Eliza, or the family name will be in ruins.'

'You think you are clever, don't you?' said Jane sharply as Eliza clicked her tongue, 'But one of these days, Grace, you might just regret running about the grounds like a wild thing. I mean, with your background you should be doing everything you can to catching a husband, not everything you can to put any decent man off.' This was too much for Grace.

'Firstly, _Miss Jane_,' she said angrily, 'There are more things in life than catching a husband, as you so bluntly put it. Secondly, with looks like yours you should perhaps be the one worrying about doing everything you can to compensate for such a disadvantage, instead of spending your time coming up with pointless remarks about my background.' Grace spoke haughtily, but there was a dangerous edge to her voice. She knew that any slight against her background was really one against her mother - and she would not have anyone say anything about her. It seemed, however, that her last remark had hit a nerve with Jane, because she stormed off, her round face quite red.

'There was no need to be so rude, Grace,' Eliza said sternly, 'If you do not apologise to my sister then I will have no choice but to speak to father about you.'

'I will not apologise for the truth,' Grace said curtly.

'Then you leave me no choice.' Eliza said, before turning on her heel, her nose even higher in the air than before, and stalking down the stairs after her sister. Grace stared after her with fury.

'Upsetting people all over, today, aren't we,' an amused voice cut in, making Grace jump. She spun around to see Colonel Tavington emerge from the doorway of one of the rooms of the manor on the second floor which housed various commissioned officers temporarily when her Grandfather called them away from battle. His eyes glinted in the low lamp light as they looked her up and down, taking in almost appreciatively the transformation brought about by a bath and change of attire. It had been weeks since Tavington had dined at Cornwallis's home, and he did not remember the red plumpness of his youngest Granddaughter's lips or the slender curves of her body, unsuccessfully hidden under an ugly pink and white dress and shawl, and he paused for a moment to look at them. He had overheard the conversation Grace had with her cousins, the daughters of Henry Ederick - a fellow Dragoon - and he had privately agreed with Grace's assessment of her cousin's looks. Had Eliza or her sister been attractive Tavington might even have been tempted to woo them as the Edericks were an extremely wealthy family and well respected in English society – not to mention heirs to Cornwallis's fortune. Henry had hinted on more than one occasion that he would be not at all displeased with such a match as Tavington had, at least for the moment, Cornwallis's favour, and Ederick, as a Lieutenant under Tavinton, had great respect for Tavington's abilities as a Colonel. However, Tavington's vanity would not allow him to court such a plain girl. He had a penchant for fine women, just as he did for smooth brandy and expensive cigars, and he would not settle for second best.

Grace did not know how to respond to Tavington and she did not like the way his eyes seemed to linger over her body - a brandy glass nestled in one hand. She found herself reluctantly impressed by the transformation in the Colonel's appearance brought about by a bath and change of attire. His bronzed face glistened quite exotically in the candlelight, making his eyes appear piercing rather than cold, and the shirt which he wore without a jacket at present revealed extremely defined arms and shoulders with great strength behind them.

'Please excuse me, Sir,' she said. 'I do not wish to be late to dinner.'

'No, indeed,' he said, 'You appear to be in enough trouble as it is.' He drained his glass and then tipped it towards her, 'I will see you downstairs in a few moments.' Grace thought it sounded like a threat.

Dinner, as usual, was a hopelessly formal affair. As well as her Uncle and cousins, several of the spinster brigade were there – including Miss Stanley and Miss Harrow, who Eliza and Jane had been entertaining earlier – and Colonel Tavington, General O'Hara – her Grandfather's advisor – and a handful of the other Dragoon officers. It seemed that there was an important meeting scheduled for the following day that required the presence of much of her Grandfather's strategic officers. Tavington was extremely bored by the dull conversation which was kept up in front of the ladies, and had attempted several times to broach the subject of war with Lord Cornwallis, only to be told to wait until they retired to the card room for brandy and cigars. He noticed that Grace was watching him carefully. She was obviously concerned that, as he threatened, he would tell Cornwallis that he had discovered her out of the grounds. Actually he had forgotten all about their encounter. He had more important things on his mind than the exploits of a young girl, but, not wanting to disappoint her, and still feeling irritated by her comments about the militia, he decided to oblige. He waited until they had finished dessert and the most of the Dragoons had trailed off into the card room.

'My Lord,' Tavington said, Grace's eyes travelling at once towards their direction.

'Yes Colonel?'

'My Lord, I regret to inform you that I found young Miss Grace up a tree far out of the grounds earlier today.' Eliza and Jane, who were seated close by started to snigger. Lord Cornwallis looked sharply at his granddaughter who reddened.

'Is this true?' he said sternly. Some of the older ladies were clicking their tongues.

'Yes, Grandfather,' she said reluctantly, refusing to meet his hard gaze.

'Disgraceful!' said the elderly Miss Stanley, shaking her head; the many jowls which hung round her neck wobbling excitedly.

'I think that she had escaped her governess,' Tavington continued. 'She was most reluctant to accompany me back to the manor, but I assured her that you would not permit me to leave her at the mercy of the militia – whom she appeared to think were quite threatening to our campaign' There was a murmur of outrage round the table at this last remark. From the corner of her eye Grace saw her Uncle pound the table slightly, and her Grandfather's red cheeks puffed out like a bull-frog.

'Thank you, Colonel,' Cornwallis said irritably. He turned to Grace with harsh grey eyes, placing his goblet of wine on the table and pressing his fingertips together.

'I am, Grace, quite frankly, disgusted with you,' he said sharply at last, much to the delight of Jane and Eliza. 'It is not one week ago since we spoke about something very similar, and I instructed that you were to under no circumstances leave the grounds. As to your remarks about the militia – well I cannot begin to express my disappointment.'

It seemed now that everyone who was left at the table was listening intently to the exchange between Cornwallis and his granddaughter, and Tavington was swirling brandy the brandy I his glass, watching her carefully.

'She is quite out of control,' Miss Stanley cut in. 'I saw her governess, Miss Hinny, today – a wonderful woman – quite frantic that she could not find her young charge. I really think that with such fine ladies as Miss Ederick and Miss Jane to set an example she should be doing much better.' This was too much for Grace.

'Oh, such fine ladies,' Grace said, sarcasm heavy in her voice, 'with such delightfully empty heads and such an admirable sense of dullness!' An ominous silence followed this outburst. Every pair of eyes were turned towards Grace. Jane and Eliza feigned outrage – but it was obvious that they were delighted that Grace had openly shown such rudeness; she was now in serious trouble. Her Uncle Ederick broke the silence.

'Lord Cornwallis, I hope that you will not allow your granddaughter to speak in such a fashion about my daughters.'

'Oh forget it, father,' said Jane in her best injured tone. 'Only earlier Grace was telling my sister and I that we were so plain that we could never hope to acquire a husband against her beauty. She is quite spiteful.' Grace reddened deeply as the ladies positioned round the table looked at each other in disgust; she knew that that was not exactly how the conversation had gone, but she could not bring herself to admit that she had said it in retaliation to a comment made about her mother and so she said nothing.

'Lord Cornwallis,' her Uncle said, rising angrily, his thin lips almost invisible on his reddened face and his pointed nose thrust up in the air, 'I trust that you will instruct Miss Grace to keep a civil tongue in her head in future. Come on girls,' he said to Jane and Eliza, 'let us retire to the parlour where the atmosphere is more pleasant.' Ederick and his daughters were followed by Miss Harrow and Miss Stanley and the rest of the ladies. Only Lord Cornwallis, General 'O Hara, Colonel Tavington and Grace remained at the table.

'How dare you.' Cornwallis began. 'How dare you insult your cousins in such a coarse fashion: have you learnt nothing?' Grace looked swiftly towards Colonel Tavington. She remembered that he had heard the conversation she had had with Jane. Colonel Tavington, however, was not about to admit that he had heard Jane insulting Grace. He was thoroughly enjoying seeing Grace chastised – and he thought it might distract the General from the issue of today's battle.

'I – I'm sorry, Grandfather,' she said at last. At this point General 'O Hara cleared his throat.

'Perhaps the Colonel and I should take our leave my Lord …'

'That will not be necessary, General,' Cornwalis interrupted, 'We have business to discuss that I do not wish to be overheard. Stay where you are.' He turned back to Grace.

'And leaving the grounds – again? Scaling trees? You are a young lady, not a mountain lion.'

'But grandfather …'

'No buts, Grace. I am very disappointed in you. Do you not think that my men have better things to do with their time than chase around after you? Now you will apologise to your cousins, and you will apologise to Colonel Tavington for taking up his time this afternoon.' Tavington smiled lazily at Grace; she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again – looking in to his piercing eyes she had no desire whatsoever to apologise. 'I said, you will apologise to Colonel Tavington.' Lord Cornwallis repeated, noting the look that passed between his granddaughter and his Colonel. He wondered for a brief moment if Grace was about to refuse his order; but she appeared to change her mind.

'I – I'm sorry, Colonel,' she said at last. Colonel Tavington gave a little satisfied nod and Grace's face burned under his amused stare. She knew that she had shown weakness, but she had seen something dangerous in his eyes that she had not cared to test. Lord Cornwallis looked thoughtfully at his granddaughter for a few moments before continuing.

'Grace, I do not believe an apology is enough. In the morning I will instruct the stable hands that they are not, under any circumstances, to allow you to ride – even within the grounds. It is clear to me that you can not be trusted and that I have been too easy on you. From now on you will learn your lessons and stop all this wild behaviour. You are dismissed.' As his young granddaughter left the room, her head bowed, General Cornwallis watched as his Colonel's eyes followed her. It was about then that an idea began to form in his mind.


	3. The Mind of a Genius

As Lord Cornwallis sat in his office the following day the plan he had formulated turned over and over in his head. He still did not know whether he was making the right decision. He knew that Grace was out of hand and that this should tame her once and for all, but he couldn't help feeling that he would be committing a great betrayal against his granddaughter. After all she _was_ young. It was possible that time would change her temperament and that she would find her own way to being a lady. Still, on the other hand nothing that he had done far had seemed to make any sort of impression on her. She was so like her mother – a mind of her own, incapable of hiding her feelings - and he was terrified that, like her mother, she would end up in trouble and disgrace. It had broken his heart when he had found out that his daughter was unmarried and with child. He blamed himself for spoiling her. He had even introduced her to the man who would eventually take her purity – a Captain in the British army, married five years to a lady of such high standing and breeding that no one would believe her husband had acted like such a rogue. The blame had landed firmly at the feet of Cornwallis's daughter, whom people knew to be wilful, and it had only been through the combination of her death, and the high esteem in which the General was held by the king which had allowed him to retain the dignity of the rest of his family.

The General's eldest son Goderick Cornwallis had exasperated the situation further by challenging the Captain to a duel over his wronging of his sister; however, Goderick was killed in battle abroad before he was able to honour the duel and since then the matter had been closed. It had been a hard blow indeed for General Cornwallis to lose both a daughter and a son within a few short months, and since the death of his remaining daughter, Maria Cornwallis, by scarlet fever, he had resolved to keep his small family close by - which was the reason he had ordered his son in law, Henry Ederick, to have his daughters accompany them to the colonies. His surviving youngest child, Joseph Cornwallis, was in the employ of his army in the colonies – a Red Coat Second Lieutenant - however, as far possible, and secretly from Joseph, Cornwallis had ordered that he be kept out of live battle; he had no desire to lose his one remaining child, and since Joseph had not as yet married, and his grandchildren were all female, he was anxious to retain a male heir.

As he considered his tragic family history, Lord Cornwallis's resolve in the plan for his granddaughter grew. He could not and would not allow her life to follow the pattern of her mother. He picked up a piece of parchment on the table next to him and scribbled a note with his quill. When he had finished he folded it into an envelope and sealed it using a wooden stamp to mark the family coat of arms proudly into the molten red wax. He then rang the bell for one of the servants.

'Yes my lord?'

'Take this to General 'O Hara and ask him to have one of his men deliver it immediately to the recipient.'

'Yes my Lord.'

As the letter bobbed away on the silver tray where the butler had placed it, Lord Cornwallis was penetrated by feelings of foreboding. However, he had not become a General by having doubt in his decisions, so, shaking himself slightly, he rose to go back to the daily duties to which a General had to attend, the later meeting that the letter arranged pushed brusquely to the back of his mind.

**A short chapter I know, but necessary …**


	4. The Plan Unfolds

General Cornwallis's impromptu meeting with General 'O Hara and some of his men was not going well. They had insisted that he grant them an interview as they were concerned that the Redcoats were not gaining ground as quickly as they ought to. They urged Cornwallis to commandeer more of his troops for battle with the militia.

'We cannot underestimate them, my Lord,' General 'O Hara said urgently. 'They have killed eleven officers in less than the same number of days and they are intercepting our supply runs to the camps.'

Cornwallis sighed – his mind was not on the task in hand that evening and he was sick of the attention that he had been forced to give to the continental militia. In his opinion they were slow-witted urchins who fought with wooden arrows and spears like an uncivilised rabble of miscreants. The only fighting he was interested in was that which would bring him glory and victory; sacrificing his men for militia would do neither, since it would not win the war, nor earn the respect of England. He glanced out of the window of his office and noticed that the sun was burning a dim orange and that dusk was about to fall.

'Captain,' he said shortly, 'I have no intention of discussing this matter any further with you this evening. I have an appointment that cannot wait.'

'An appointment, my Lord? I have not been informed of this …'

'And why should you?' Cornwallis snapped. 'There are matters I have to attend to which are none of your affair.'

'But my Lord, we have some valuable supplies to transport tomorrow – this matter cannot be put off, we need your word to request more men for the security of it.'

'Damn it,' Cornwallis shouted, banging his fist on the table in frustration, 'I will not permit you to enlist more men for such trivia. Are you not the King's redcoats? Can you not protect our supplies from a mob of vagabonds? If you cannot, then how do you hope to take victory against the colonial army - and the French?' General 'O Hara reddened slightly. He thought it unfair that Lord Cornwallis was reproaching him for something that was hardly his fault. It had been Colonel Tavington's actions that had swelled the ranks of the milita and created the notoriety of the "Ghost", but he merely nodded.

'Certainly, my Lord,' he said. 'I will give orders to the men that they are to quell any rebellion single-handedly and relieve the rabble of their wooden spears and loin cloths.' General 'O Hara wondered if Cornwallis would let him get away with the thinly veiled insolence of such a remark, but he seemed distracted and merely grunted that he and his men were dismissed.

Several minutes later the Lord Cornwallis was tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. He was not used to being kept waiting and he hoped that his letter had reached the appropriate hands. He did not relish the prospect of waiting another day before resolving the matter of Grace. He thought that if he had time to think too deeply about it he could easily talk himself out of his decision, as he had a weak spot for his granddaughter and he knew in his heart that she would be enraged by the course of action that he had decided to take. Perhaps unluckily for Grace, then, there was a knock at the door a few moments later.

'Come in,' Cornwallis said, his low voice resounding like an echo through the empty office. The door opened and through it stepped a British soldier.

'You sent for me my Lord,' came the indifferent drawl as the soldier made his way to Cornwallis's desk, his footsteps loud and purposeful.

'Yes,' Cornwallis said.

'On a personal matter, my Lord?'

'Yes,' came the reply, 'Please sit down Colonel Tavington.'

Tavington looked at Cornwallis with mild surprise; as far as he could recollect the General had never invited him to be seated in the entire time he had served under him. He drew up the small wooden chair which had been placed opposite the General and seated himself in front of him, wincing slightly as he made contact – it had been another heavy day in the saddle. He had gotten the sealed letter from a redcoat private earlier that day. It was not the first time that he had been summoned to the General's office in recent weeks, and he had not relished the prospect of repeating the experience at first. The other interviews had been extremely unpleasant and humiliating – the General having been less than pleased about the progress of the one they now called "Ghost" and his militia, and he seemed to hold Tavington personally responsible, using him as a verbal punch bag for his frustration. However, when he had read the short letter more thoroughly he had noticed the General's reference to a 'private and personal matter'. Though Tavington had struggled to imagine to what this may refer he was at least easier in the knowledge that it was not going to be another dressing down witnessed by the triumphant General 'O Hara, who seemed to take every derogatory mark made towards Tavington as a personal victory.

'My Lord …?' Tavington prompted, thinking that the General was regarding him very strangely.

'This is not easy for me, Colonel,' Cornwallis said, wringing his hands and getting to his feet. Tavington had no reply to this, so he simply watched as Cornwallis began pacing, wondering whether he had deliberately ordered him to be seated so that he could physically loom over him. 'You must understand that I have attempted every other avenue. I would not ask this of you, or her, unless I had exhausted every other possibility,'

'Her, my Lord?' Tavington said, slightly confused. Cornwallis paused at the far end of the room and turned to look directly at the Colonel of the Dragoons.

'Grace,' he said after a few moments of silence.

Tavington had to try very hard to stop his expression giving away his disgust. He could hardly believe that Cornwallis had disturbed him from his duties to discuss that impudent little wench.

'I do not understand, Sir,' he said, as lightly as he could, endeavouring to keep the contempt from his tone. Cornwallis was now back behind his desk and was watching the Tavington carefully.

'I desire, Colonel, that you and my granddaughter be joined in matrimony.'


	5. Prosperity and Brandy

'Matrimony!' Tavington said indignantly, 'but my Lord, Grace is a bas-'

'If you use that word Tavington,' cut in Cornwallis angrily, 'Colonel or no Colonel I will have you flogged.' The rest of the sentence died on Tavington's lips. He knew that Cornwallis was not being serious – even if he wanted to he could not flog an officer – but the reference stung him. He knew (and so did Cornwallis) that when he had been a young Corporal he had received the lash for insubordination. It had been a false allegation. The Colonel who had ordered the lashing had lent a small fortune to Tavington's father, who gambled away the lot and died before the debt could be repaid. Though it had been almost twenty years Tavington had never forgotten the humiliation of being lashed in front of the other men - tied with his arms around a tree like a common thief; he had only been given twenty licks but each and every one of them had cut through his pride like a knife. He pursed his lips together and said nothing. Lord Cornwallis sighed.

'Perhaps I am too defensive, Colonel,' he went on after a moment's pause, noting the disgruntled expression on the Colonels face - it had not been his intention to alienate him so early in their conversation. 'Grace has been on my mind of late.' He crossed the room and sat back down in front of Tavington. 'I know that Grace's _history_ is chequered Colonel, but if I remember an earlier conversation we had correctly so is yours.' He held his hand up as Tavington opened his mouth to protest. 'Hear me out, Colonel. Grace is, regrettably, showing the same type of spirit that her mother had. You yourself witnessed her disobedient behaviour the other night at dinner. But she is young, and I think that with the right instruction she could become a refined, respectable lady.'

Tavington's lips curled, he doubted very much if this was true, but he made up his mind not to give away his doubt to the General just yet. After all as much as his granddaughter was a spoiled brat she was an heir to Cornwallis's fortune.

'You think that I have time to instruct a young girl to be a lady, my Lord? Surely not. Only the other day you were telling me that I had not been working quite hard enough to catch the 'Ghost' and his merry men.'

Cornwallis watched his Colonel's face carefully for a few moments wondering if he was making the right decision. Tavington was always full of thinly veiled insolence and a cockiness not fitting on a British officer. Lord Cornwallis had been reluctant to recommend him for the commission of Colonel at first, but he did have ruthlessness that was needed in the colonies and whatever anyone said about his character he was a good officer. More practically he knew that Tavington would be one of the few that could control Grace, and one of the few who might be persuaded to marry her despite her background, and would not mind remaining in America after the war.

'I did not say I wish you to instruct her. But I can think of no one more suitable for dealing with her – behaviour,' he said at last, honestly.

Tavington allowed himself a cursory smile. Cornwallis was obviously extremely concerned about his granddaughter, and if he thought Tavington was the answer he might decide to provide a more than generous incentive.

'And,' Cornwallis went on, 'Grace is certainly not unpleasant to regard, I'm sure you'll agree.' Tavington gave a slight, grudging nod. He had noticed her blossoming beauty at dinner the other evening. She had soft smooth skin and clear dark eyes which were full of un-harnessed fire, and he had found himself glancing at her more than once. 'There is of course an age difference, but I think that it will be good for Grace to have the influence of someone older than herself.'

'My Lord,' Tavington said, 'You are forgetting that I am not of the marrying disposition. I do not believe it the duty of an officer to take a wife – he should be completely committed to –'

'Oh stuff and nonsense!' Cornwallis interjected. 'It is the duty and privilege of every man to take a wife.'

'Is it not also the privilege of every man to _choose_ a wife, my Lord?' Tavington said icily.

'Granted. But Colonel, you might find there are certain advantages in marrying some ladies over others.' He got to his feet again and crossed the room to the tall oak cabinet and retrieved a crystal decanter filled with smooth matured brandy and two glasses. He poured the Colonel a drink, which Tavington accepted.

'Go on.'

'You have expresses an interest in remaining in the Colonies after the war is won. It is my desire that Grace do the same. I have every intention of building her an estate much like this one, perhaps in one of the more eloquent southern states. It is my wish that Grace retain a standing in the new aristocracy, and if you join with her in marriage - well, lets just say that I will take care of the finances until you get on your feet. It could be a new start of the both of you.'

Tavington sat back in his chair and absentmindedly swilled the brandy in his glass. He had to admit that Cornwallis's offer was appealing. Not only would it not do his military career any harm to have a (near) father-in-law who was a Lord and General, but he would be financially secured for life. His own father had squandered his inheritance on his love of drinking, gambling and women, and though it was this which had created in Tavington the drive needed to win battles and take victories, he thought that it would be pleasant indeed to know that he would grow old in the style of life he had become accustomed to when he had been a young aristocrat in England.

He thought rapidly over the lines in Cornwallis's family trying to frame exactly where Grace was positioned as an heiress. He knew that Cornwallis's elder son had died in battle abroad, childless. His two daughters were also dead, though the elder one had had two children, Eliza and Jane. He also believed that Cornwallis had a younger son – a redcoat serving in the colonies. Grace then was fourth heir behind Cornwallis's son and his other grandchildren. It made for a fairly alluring proposition. True, Tavington had never considered taking a wife before - though he was far from chaste – but Grace was young and her figure and face were not disagreeable, and, he thought will some relish, would be under his charge. It might actually be quite sporting to tame the General's daughter.

'And Grace …? She is agreeable to the match? It is, so they tell me, usual for courtship to take place before marriage.'

Tavington found it highly unlikely that Cornwallis had sought permission from his grandchild. She had looked at him with such disdain when he had relayed her antics at dinner the other day, and her face had flamed as she had been forced to apologise to him.

'Let me worry about that, Colonel. I simply want your answer.'

'I will not propose to Grace, my Lord. I do not believe in the fanfare which fills so much of the trite literature that ladies are so fond of.'

'That will not be necessary. I will make the arrangements. It is my intention for you to marry two weeks hence on Grace's seventeenth birthday in a small ceremony. Of course, Colonel, you must agree to the terms of the marriage.'

'Terms, my Lord?' Tavington raised an eyebrow.

'Simply that you will supervise Grace's instruction to become a lady.

I believe that you have sisters?'

'Four,' admitted Tavington with a scowl – he found it quite indecent to have so many women in a family.

'Good, then you will know what is expected.'

'Agreed my Lord. - Of course,' Tavington went on, watching Cornwallis carefully, 'When I am married to Miss Grace I will not expect a more than the normal interference.'

'I don't follow Colonel …'

'I simply mean, my Lord … well to not put to fine a point on it, Grace will be my responsibility, I trust that you will relinquish some of the – attention – you give to her at present.'

'I will leave you to get on with married life as best you please Colonel. However, I will not see her disgraced. I have heard tell of your colourful reputation with women – I do not desire to know if there is truth to it, but when you are married that behaviour will of course not be acceptable.' Tavington smiled wryly.

'Certainly my Lord,' he said. He knew what the General meant. It was well know and, in Tavington's opinion quite acceptable, that married men played away – after all they were men – but it would not do to display this publicly. Tavington could live with that, even if he had no intention of retaining the 'sanctity' of his marriage.

'Very well, the matter is settled. I shall arrange furlough for you beginning in precisely a fortnight. One week will have to be enough at present.'

'Furlough? I do not desire to leave battle my Lord,' Tavington said astounded. The way the militia was progressing at the moment Tavington did not want to leave the field for any more than the time it would take to complete the ceremony (and perhaps the commsumation).

'You cannot avoid it Colonel. Every bride deserves a honeymoon. It is routine for an officer to be granted leave of a week after marriage.' Tavington hesitated. He had no desire to have a 'honeymoon' with anyone, least of all in the middle of such an important campaign against the militia. On the other hand it was a small price to pay for the kind of security he had so badly desired.

'Very well, General. I will take the week. Only on the condition that if there is a significant field battle I will be allowed to participate.'

'Granted.' Lord Cornwallis filled their glasses again from the decanter. 'Then I will speak to Grace in the morning.' He held up his glass and tipped it towards Tavington. 'To prosperity for both you and Grace, Colonel,' he said, 'And to marriage… '

'To prosperity,' Tavington muttered, before draining the glass in a single swig.

**Thanks to bizziebee - my first review of my first Patriot fanfiction**

**If anyone else gets chanceI would appreciate a review. Especially what I might be doing wrong (or even right) ...**


	6. Lost Dreams

Grace through herself down on her bed, burying her face in the blue silk eiderdown, and did something that she hadn't done since she was ten and had just found out that her birth had been illegitimate – she cried. Her sobs echoed through the lonely room, reverberating on the polished stone walls and rebounding back twice as loud.

It was so unfair. Her grandfather expected her – no had ordered her – to marry Tavington. She had raged against him, told him that she wouldn't dream of marrying a man with such a reputation as his, and such an unfeeling disposition. But her Grandfather, for once, had not given in. He told her that she would be married in two weeks on her seventeenth birthday and that that was the end of the matter. He had called her a silly girl for making such a fuss, when (of course) it was every girls dream to marry so young and to such a 'distinguished' Colonel. It was as though he was simply telling her that she was to attend a garden party, and not a ceremony that would change her life for ever.

Perhaps the worst thing was that she knew that Tavington had been bribed into the arrangement. He had never shown the slightest interest in courting her, and only a few days before had taken great delight in humiliating her in front of her Grandfather's dinner guests, treating her as though she was a small, disobedient, child. She had never felt more like her grandfather's property in her life. Since she was a young toddler he had treated her fairly, spoiled her in fact. But now she was a 'woman' it seemed that he was more than ready to treat her just like the other court ladies – part of a mercenary exchange between powerful men.

He had told her that the marriage was for her own good. He had said that it would secure her reputation and teach her to be a lady. But Grace wasn't ready to be a lady. In fact she had never desired anything less than she did to be a lady. Ladies were dull and staid and steady. Grace wanted to tear around the countryside of the colonies, the wind in her hair, sitting astride (not side saddle) on a fine black horse, jumping the brooks and hedges and making acquaintances amongst the so-called peasants, who, as far as she could tell, had not even heard of etiquette, let alone practiced it.

Instead she was now destined to be the wife of someone who didn't love her; tied to him as sure as if she was bound with chains and sent to the tower.

Grace felt she knew a little something of love. She spent most of her days wiling away the hours reading poetry or plays. Shakespeare was her favourite but she had also read much from the renaissance period. All were tales of passion, love and feeling. Tavington did not seem capable of possessing such ardour. Maybe in battle, but not, perhaps particularly, where she was concerned. Grace had always presumed that she would be swept off her feet by some suitor – maybe one who'd have to fight for her like in the story of Romeo and Juliet - and she sobbed bitterly now as she realised instead that the only romantic experiences she would ever have would be the result of a heartless pact between her Grandfather and Tavington.

Automatically she reached for the small leather-bound diary which she had hidden in a secret draw in her bedside cabinet. She had found her mother's diary in the attic of her grandfather's Surrey estate, along with a locket with a small portrait of the lady she knew to be her mother, and the man she didn't know who was her father. Her mother's life had, in Grace's opinion, been remarkable. Her diary was full of tales of adventure and passion and love. She had known what it was like to feel, and she had been swept off her feet by an older Captain, who, though she had been with only briefly, had doted on her and with whom she had fallen head over heels in love. Grace flicked through the crisp and yellowing pages to her favourite entry, dated May 5th 1762:

_Oh diary,_

_My love for the Captain knows no words. He is my breath, my warmth, my sustenance – everything I have ever dreamed is he – and though I rattle on like a dreamy maiden I can scarcely help but confide in you._

_I told him today that I am carrying his child and he cried with poor joy. He is going to take me and the baby away to France to escape the cruel wrath of London. Though I know it may break my father's heart it will break mine not to go … _

Though she loved reading about her father's more honourable intentions towards her and her mother, Grace wept inconsolably now. Never would she know such love as that. She wept both for her lost dreams and also for the dreams which her mother had never fulfilled. She had died less than a year after that entry – her Captain deserting her finally for the security of his wife's income.

After a few moments indulgence Grace pushed away her long blonde hair which had matted to her red sticky face and she rubbed her eyes viciously. She knew she was being pathetic. It was not at all unusual for matches to be agreed by families. She knew also that she could not refuse her Grandfather's request. He had been good enough to keep her, even though she was born illegitimate. She could have been given to the workhouse as yet another orphan, which London, at present, seemed to teem with. Instead she had been given privilege and opportunity. No she would do her duty as far as her Grandfather was concerned. Tavington, however, was another matter.

She drew herself purposefully up off the bed. So Tavington thought he had acquired a little wife to do his bidding, and to keep him satisfied when he returned from battle? He thought, as her Grandfather suggested, that he could somehow 'tame' her into becoming a perfect lady, only too willing to talk of his greatness to any who would listen, and perhaps wipe his brow when he was perplexed. No, Grace would not do any of those things. She would satisfy her Grandfather by marrying this man, but she would not make it easy for Tavington. She brushed aside the way her face had flamed when her Grandfather had told her about the arrangement. True she had in a weak moment found him alluring, and true also that she had shivered slightly as when he had looked at her hard, commanding her to show him the due respect. But she must not show fear when she was his wife. Grace had never feared anything or anyone in her life. She did what she pleased and, wife or no wife, she was not about to stop the things she loved - it was what made her feel real against that shadows of selves which she saw in her cousins or the old spinsters. It also made her feel connected to her mother.

She felt herself age five years in the fifteen minutes that she sat rigid on the bed, staring out of the open window into the scorched countryside, which showed no signs of lustre or life, the diary still clasped tightly in her hand. The only thing that marriage could really change was her freedom, and as she had no intention of allowing that to happen she suddenly felt better. She smoothed down her clothes and, without so much as a shaking hand she stalked from the room and down to the stables.

**Pleases review if you get chance, I know this chapter is a bit short! The next chapter will see more action and the first proper encounter between Tavington and Grace … also perhaps another couple of familiar faces will emerge …**


	7. A Ride into Danger

Tavington was getting sick of the comments he had received since Lord Cornwallis had announced his engagement to Grace. It had spread like wildfire around the camp that Tavington had lost his heart to the young girl, and wherever he went he was congratulated. He had no desire to be congratulated. His marriage to Grace was simply a transaction, much in the same way that one might procure land or be granted a commission. He had therefore threatened that the next man to broach the subject of his wedding would be sent immediately to the front line in nearby Moncks Corner. It seemed to have done the trick – however, it did not work with the officers.

'Not long now, Colonel,' Captain Borden said with a malicious glance in the Tavington's direction. They, and a handful of other lower ranking officers, were stood around a map of South Carolina discussing military tactics in the grand tent which performed as headquarters away from battle. Tavington looked sharply at Borden.

'Not long till what, Captain?' he said, with a challenging glare. His patience had been tried already today. From without the tent he could hear the faint screams of the men who had been injured in another militia attack that afternoon. Yet again they had failed to capture the 'Ghost', and he had not been sorry to hear that some of the men required the painful removal of musket balls by forceps.

'Till we capture the "Ghost", Sir,' Borden said, noting the danger in his Colonel's eyes and deciding better of testing him further. He had heard with mild amusement the rumour around camp that Tavington had lost his heart to Grace Cornwallis. He knew that nothing could be further from the truth – in fact he would be surprised if his commander even had a heart.

'Oh you think so do you Captain? As much as admire your optimism I think it's a little too early for celebration. After all that is the third run this month that has ended with our men wounded and the militia … victorious.' Borden was silenced by Tavington's contemptuous tirade. 'Now,' he said, 'You men have your orders, see that they are carried out. And if anyone comes to me with tales of woe about the militia then that man might just find himself wishing that he had listened less to ghost stories and more to the methods for the non-surgical removal of musket balls from his private parts.' He barked the last sentence with such viciousness that some of the men jumped. All turned to leave without a word.

'Just a moment, Lieutenant Ederick,' Tavington said, holding out his arm to stop the General's son-in-law from leaving.

'Yes, Sir?' It was a curt response. Ederick was annoyed with the Colonel for taking Grace's hand. He took it as a slight that he would rather be joined with the General's bastard granddaughter than one of his own, legitimate, children.

'What do you know of General Cornwallis's younger son?' Tavington said casually.

'Lieutenant Joseph, Sir?'

'Yes, that's him,'

'Nothing Sir,' came the abrupt reply. Ederick folded his arms, his pointed shoulder blades pulled back tightly and his nose firmly in the air. Tavington sighed - he had not meant his marriage to alienate him from his Lieutenant who was a useful ally.

'Come now Henry,' he said lightly, 'You know given the choice I would have had Miss Ederick as my wife. I am taking that daughter-of-a-whore simply as a favour to the General. Ederick looked directly at Tavington, slightly appeased.

'What do you want to know?' he said eventually. Tavington smiled as he stooped down to retrieve the bottle of whiskey that he kept in a trunk with his gunpowder, muskets and bayonet.

Tavington and Ederick were still deep in conversation when the tent flap was flung open by a flustered redcoat.

'Colonel!' the young soldier said, saluting.

'Well?' Tavington spat.

'The 'Ghost', he's been sighted not far from Lord Cornwallis's manor.'

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Grace had not meant to journey so far from the grounds, but the wedding was only three days away and she had woken up feeling reckless. She was sick of Eliza and the others congratulating her on an engagement that she had not wanted. All they could say was how lucky she was to have made such an agreeable match. She had to bite her lip hard to not give away her true feelings on the matter. She could not bare for Jane to find out that her Grandfather had ordered her to marry – so often had she spoken to her of 'true' love, and sneered at Jane's willingness to settle for any 'match' deemed suitable by her father.

So that morning she had escaped her governess once again. She had commandeered Othello, the only stallion in her Grandfather's stables, from a gullible stable hand and had set off on a ride in the surrounding countryside. It was a beautiful day and she had gotten carried away by the delightful scenery; the wild flowers which Grace did not know the name of, scattered around lush meadows, with petals of scarlet red or royal blue and the hills that seemed to stretch far up into the sky, appearing in league with the swirling white shapes that drifted overhead.

Regrettably Grace was now lost. She had allowed a tired Othello to drink from a creek that she had stumbled on quite accidentally; but as she had led him idly around the perimeter she had become disorientated – and it was then that she began to realise that she did not know the way back. As she stood trying to figure out from which direction she had come she suddenly heard rustling amongst some nearby hedges, followed by colonial voices. Panicking, she quickly ducked down in a large flowered bush, the thorns of which tore mercilessly at her bare arms as if in a conspiracy to make her call out and be seen. She quickly realised how stupid she had been. Here she was at the mercy of a band of colonials, Othello in full view. She wished that she had simply mounted the horse and raced off in any direction – she was confident that she could outrun any colonial rider, man or no man.

'We sure showed them today, father,' came a voice. Grace craned her neck to peer through the gaps in the top branches to see how many men she was faced with. As she did so she was pleasantly surprised. Not only were there only two men, a father and son, but the younger was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had deep brown eyes, which flashed with sincerity, and long blonde hair caught back in a loose knot. His blue and white uniform was shabby, but it had a realness to it that was quite pleasing, and an implicit hint of dissent. He was smiling pleasantly at the older man and there was obviously a great deal of respect between them.

'Yes,' the older man agreed, who was also quite handsome, the skin of his honed physique browned by the American climate, and his bright blue eyes the colour of the sky. 'I have a feeling that they might hunt the 'Ghost' with a great deal more fervour now that he has commandeered the Colonel's wedding attire!' The younger man laughed as Grace covered her mouth in shock – these men knew the 'Ghost' who had been causing Tavington so much trouble.

'Well you certainly provoke them, father. Did you see the looks on their faces today? I think they thought that if they touched you with a blade it would disappear right through you.

'Funny, your mother always said I was quite thick-skinned aswell!'

'These rumours of the 'Ghost' have certainly given us an advantage.' The younger man went on, 'Perhaps they think our camp is invisible too -'

'Well it may as well be – there's no one who would consider looking for us in the swampland so close to Cornwallis's palace.'

As the two men laughed together the panic in Grace's heart took hold of her body, circulating in cold waves through her veins, he hands clammy and shaking: This man _was_ the 'ghost'!

'Hang on a second, Gabrielle,' the elder man said holding out his arm to stop his son. 'Do you see what I see?' As Grace held her breath, certain they would hear her heart beating from within her chest, the two men advanced cautiously towards Othello, keeping their eyes open for any Redcoats. Othello, perhaps sensing their advances, chose that moment to seek out Grace, bending his nose low into the bushes and nuzzling into her shoulder.

'Go away Othello,' she whispered as loud as she dared, trying desperately to push him away - but this only made him whinny loudly. It took only seconds for the two men to make their way towards her hiding place.

'Well, well, well,' said the 'Ghost', 'I think we have ourselves a lady.' Grace's cheeks reddened. If the rumours she had heard about the ghost was true she was about to be in very serious trouble. She cursed herself again for riding off without an escort – it was well known that the members of the militia were a band of villains, only too ready to murder or rape whoever they came across.

To her surprise, however, the younger man reached out his hand to gently pull her to her feet. Her stomach jolting at the contact of their skin. He seemed to mistake her reaction as fear.

'Don't be scared my lady. Neither me nor my father will hurt you.' His voice was soft, and Grace was immediately reassured.

'What's a young lady like yourself doing so far out of camp?' the 'Ghost' asked. His voice was also kind, and he simply appeared amused.

'I was riding,' she said, 'I lost my way.' She noticed that the eyes of the younger man had not left her since he had pulled her to her feet and her cheeks suddenly felt hot.

'May I ask your name?'

'Its Grace,' she said after a moments pause, 'and that will have to do.'

'Very wise, very wise.' the man said, his eyes twinkling, 'Although it is not our intention to hold you for ransom, not given as we are to kidnapping young ladies. My name is Benjamin, and this is my son Gabrielle. We are delighted to make your acquaintance.'

'She's a beauty,' Gabrielle said, stroking Othello lovingly. Grace smiled, she thought it to his credit that he could appreciate a fine horse.

'Of course we shall have to commandeer it I'm afraid, my lady,' the 'Ghost' said, as casually as if he was commenting upon the weather.

'Father …' Gabrielle protested. He had taken a liking to this young English girl. She was extremely beautiful, her long blonde hair glistening like silk in the sun and her cheeks flushed with the ride, and had a spirited manner that he scarcely would expect on such a refined 'lady', given away by the steeliness of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. He had no intention of allowing her to be stranded.

'Oh its okay,' the 'Ghost' said, holding up his hand to silence his son. 'We will not leave you abandoned my lady. We will retrieve our horses which are tethered over there in the bush and exchange one for the other.'

'I'm afraid that that will not be possible, Mr Benjamin,' Grace said before she could stop herself. 'That horse is not yours to 'commandeer'. Gabrielle grinned broadly at his father's obvious astonishment.

'I'm not sure you are in a position to bargain my lady,' the 'Ghost' said, definite amusement in his tone.

'Still, Mr Benjamin …'

Grace was interrupted by a shabbily dressed man who burst from the bushes on horseback, his hand clutching the reins of two further mares.

'_It's the British_,' he shouted.

Immediately Gabrielle and Benjamin leapt into action. They abandoned Othello and jumped quickly to horse.

'Goodbye, my lady,' Gabrielle called over his shoulder as the disappeared into the woodland. A split second later a clattering of hooves announced the arrival of the Dragoons led by Captain Borden. Grace could do nothing but watch helplessly as they tore off after the three men. Grace found herself looking round wildly at the passing Dragoons, hoping not to see any trace of Tavington or her Uncle. Unfortunately she was disappointed moments later by an angry voice behind her.

'I thought I recognised that horse,' Ederick spat, 'How dare you take it! How dare you ride this far away from the grounds! A fine ransom you would have made for the militia – after they had finished ravishing you. Perhaps we should have held back longer …' Grace did not dare turn around.

'That's enough Lietenant,' came a second voice. She did not need to turn round to realise with horror that it was Colonel Tavington. 'Take this horse and follow the men.' Grace slowly turned round to face Tavington. Clothed in an immaculate green uniform, whip in hand, and completed with a tall riding helmet, he made a fearsome figure. His stature was enhanced greatly by the height given by his horse and he looked like he could trample Grace in the blink of an eye. She recoiled slightly, her heart beating faster than when she had been discovered by Gabrielle and his father.

'Sir,' she protested. 'Follow your men. I will ride back to the manor on Othello.'

'No,' he said, a dangerous sneer forming at his lips.

'I will take my leave, Colonel,' Ederick said, his eyes passing back and forth between the two of them, satisfied with Grace's discomfort.

'Very well,' said Tavington, not taking his eyes from Grace, 'But Lieutenant, make sure that you do not reveal the identity of the 'girl' to any – or else I shall be very displeased.

'As you will, sir,' Ederick said before saluting and riding off, Othello in tow.

'Climb on my horse,' Tavingon ordered. Grace did not dare refuse. She crossed slowly over to where the Colonel had paused. As she got near he bent down and grabbed the back of her dress, half-dragging her into position in front of his saddle.

'Colonel – I – I did not mean to travel so far …'

'You will do well to be silent,' he interjected, his whip poised in his hand threateningly. 'We shall talk at the manor.'

With that he kicked the belly of the horse, flicking his crop against its side and riding off in the direction of the manor.

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I especially appreciate comments on my failure/success in the writing - please be as critical as you want!**

**I couldn't decide between one chapter or two for this update, but decided that sorter is better when your reading … would appreciate any comments on either.**


	8. The First Lesson

Tavington maintained a stony silence all the way back. When they finally arrived he dismounted swiftly. He was furious that Grace had almost shown him up in front of the dragoons – he knew that it would reflect badly on his control – and he would probably have left her there to the mercy of the colonials had she not gone unrecognised amongst the majority of his men.

'Get down,' he said, without offering his assistance. Grace hesitated for a moment. It would be really easy to dig her heels into the tender skin of the horse and ride off again. Tavington, however, had noticed her jaw clench slightly. He was excellent at reading the reactions of his opponents. Even a slight bead of sweat on a temple could tell him that a colonial was about to strike – a skill that gave him the advantage he needed to lunge first. He reached up and grabbed Grace's arm and wrenched her abruptly from the horse.

'I told you to get down.' Grace flushed; as he had pulled her from the horse he had pulled her close to his body. He held her there now for a few moments, his eyes lingering on her curves. Grace could smell the faint tinge of leather mingled with sweat from the day's riding which gathered on his back and chest and hung in beads above his lip. She could feel the firm painful grip of the fingers which imprisoned her arm. 'I think I'd better get you inside, don't you?' He said at last in a low, dangerous tone. With that he unceremoniously propelled her into the manor.

'Colonel, please …' Grace began as he roughly escorted her past a curious maid who was polishing silver candlesticks in the lengthy corridor which brought them to the library. Apart from tightening his grip on her arm, however, Tavington ignored her.

The library was empty. Rows and rows of leather-bound books littered shelves that stretched to the ceiling. Grace's grandfather was very well read and insisted that his collection be shipped to him within the first few months of the war. Grace had once searched the shelves for something interesting to pass away a rainy afternoon but had found only volume upon volume of history books, tactical military guides and religious manuscripts. There were also several mahogany desks which were handcrafted in the workshops of Thomas Chippendale – the carpenter for King George III – and were the favourite in her Grandfather's collection. They bore figures from Greek Mythology and Tavington stopped in front of one which displayed the imposing figure of Zeus with his daughter Aphrodite who clutched her wrist in pain.

'Take your hands off me, Sir!' Grace said her anger surfacing at his abrupt manner. She seized her chance and wrested her arm from his grip. They now stood facing each other across the desk. Tavington's eyes glinted in the bright afternoon sunlight that cascaded through open shutters.

'I will do with my hands what I please, Miss Grace,' he said slowly. 'Now – let's start with why I found you in the woods - far from where you are supposed to be I might add - speaking with a band of villainous militia.'

Tavington had been shocked to recognise Grace in the woods as he had chased towards the militia. When he had caught sight of a girl speaking to two men, one in Continental uniform, he had made up his mind to question her _personally_ and ordered his men to go on ahead. When he found that this girl was Grace it had taken all his willpower not to charge straight over her – he could scarcely believe that she had taken it upon herself to steal the General's personal stallion and converse with colonials as though she was simply passing the time of day at a garden party.

Grace thought quickly. She had no intention of sharing with the Colonel anything she had heard in the woods, particularly the location of the camp that would lead to the arrest of Gabrielle and his father. She personally had little understanding of the politics of the war, but she was well aware that they could have kidnapped her, or even killed her, and she was not about to return the kindness by sentencing them to death.

'I was not speaking with them, Sir, they merely disturbed my ride. I had not but said two words to them when your men came charging in scattering them.'

Tavington watched her carefully for a few long moments. He did not like the way her voice shook slightly, nor the keen brightness of her eyes. He reached over and grabbed her wrists roughly, pulling her across the desk so that her face was only inches from his own, the shock in her brown eyes pleasing him.

'Do not trifle with me, Grace,' he said in almost a whisper. 'If I find out that you have lied to me …'

'I assure you Colonel I had no exchange with the militia,' she said, desperately willing her voice to retain some sincerity. He held her there, so close that she could feel his heavy breath on her cheek.

'I will not allow my _wife_ to go gallivanting about the countryside on a stallion, at the mercy of the militia,' he said, arching a sculpted eyebrow. 'I wish you to be chaste on our wedding night, not sullied by the feeble hands of a colonial. I will not take a whore as a wife.'

Grace had never heard a man speak in such a candid way. It was not the mark of a gentleman and she had no wish to reply. She met his challenging gaze with one of her own.

'I am not your wife, Sir,' she said. Tavington's hand's tightened sharply around her wrists. He was fighting hard to restrain the full weight of his anger. He did not wish to do anything to jeopardise their wedding going ahead by striking her and marking her for Cornwallis to see, but neither did he wish to be taken for a fool or spoken to in such a manner.

'Not yet, perhaps.' he said at last, and then, deliberately taking Grace off guard, he jerked her closer to him, forcing his lips upon her own in a bruising kiss. He meant to show her exactly who would have the authority when they were wed.

Grace struggled against the Colonel but she could not prevent his tongue from pushing a way past her lips to explore her mouth. He moved one of his hands to the back of her neck holding her to him, kissing her roughly and purposefully, feeling her soft lips burn with the heat of his own as he did so, and marking her smooth delicate skin as his unshaven face chafed cruelly against it.

There was no tenderness in the kiss, only brutality, and Grace pushed her fists hard against his chest in the vain hope of staving off his advance. But the more she struggled the more aggressively he held her, tasting her violently with his imposing tongue and making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. She suddenly felt quite faint, her lips helpless against his, and her pulse racing within her.

Tavington moved one of his hands to the small of her back. He felt his manhood harden as he pressed her body against his, allowing his free hand to ride up her to her bosom, harshly caressing the placec on each in turn which her nipples would be were they not swathed in far too many teasing layers of garments and undergarments. His hand then reached lower to her firm rounded buttocks, squeezing them sharply with his fingernails, noting with some satisfaction the way she flinched in pain. He had not expected her to taste as she did and, though he had kissed her initially as an act of hostility, he felt his breath quicken. It was at this point he decided to pull away.

As Tavington finally relinquished his grip Grace regained some of her senses and drew back her hand and struck him. She was enraged and humiliated by the blatant way in which he had asserted himself over her, and she had been shocked to feel his erection against her stomach.

The slap resounded through the silent room, as loud as the crack of a musket firing, as the two stood staring at each other their faces flushed. Tavington had not flinched as her hand had made contact. Grace thought for a moment that he was about to retaliate as she saw his hand twitch by his side but he seemed to decide against it and his lips curled into a mocking smile.

'I didn't realise that a lady could be so unforgiving towards her betrothed,' he said, his tone more dangerous than she had ever heard it.

'I did not realise that a gentleman could act so much like a boor,' she retorted, not caring now how much she may provoke him, the touch of his rough hands still fresh in her mind. Tavington in response stepped closer to her, only the desk separating them.

'You might find a time when you are sorry for that, Grace,' he said quietly, his face contorted with a scarcely concealed rage. Despite her resolve for bravado, Grace shivered involuntarily. A thought grew in her mind – a thought which pointed out the folly of angering a man who within the next few days she would belong to in body as well as by law. She could not bring herself to apologise though so she said nothing.

'Until then perhaps you will be so kind as to obey Lord Cornwallis and stay within the confines of the grounds,' he went on. 'If I catch you on that horse again I warn you, Miss Grace, _I will make you sorry,_ do you understand?' Grace glared at him but gave a small, barely distinguishable, nod. She felt that she did not care to test his patience any further, having already pushed it to the limit, and fully believed that he would keep his word. Tavington smirked – satisfied that he had taught Grace her first lesson. His cheek smarted slightly from the blow she had given him and he thought with relish about the opportunity he would get after they were married to repay her in full.

'Until the wedding, then, Grace,' he said, his blue eyes glittering as he looked her up and down. 'Perhaps you will be in a slightly more amiable mood – or there again,' he added, leaning forward so that their faces almost touched, his voice dropping to a low whisper as his hand reached up to stroke her cheek, 'I do not expect it will matter very much whether you feel amiable or not.'

With that Tavington stalked from the room leaving a flushed Grace slightly trembling in the cool breeze that now rattled through the wooden shutters. She realised that she had been holding her breath and exhaled slowly, her gaze falling distractedly to the figure of Aphrodite carved on the desk. She heard the Colonel's voice somewhere in the distance, and the clattering of hooves as he rode away.

It had been an eventful afternoon and Grace felt dread in her heart at the thought that it would be a mere three days before her and the Colonel would meet again. She also turned over the meeting with the "Ghost" and his son in her mind. Grace knew that she and Gabrielle had been drawn to each other – his blue eyes had twinkled with playful romance as they had spoken, and when he pulled her to her feet her heart had leapt two inches in front of her. Gabrielle was exactly the sort of man that materialised in her imagination when ever she thought of potential suitors. He had the blonde locks of a fairy tale hero and a gentle smile that she thought would probably be in place on a Lysander. True, he was a colonial, but that thought in itself was quite exhilarating – as was the fact that she had concealed this from the Colonel.

Perhaps the strangest thing of the whole afternoon, however, was Grace's inability to shake the feeling that if Tavington had not pulled away she might have started to enjoy his kiss - and it was this that preoccupied her mind as she made her way to her bedchambers to change for dinner.

**Next update will include the wedding night … and also does there seems to be some sort of malevolent plan developing in Tavington's mind …? May be a couple of weeks as I'm off on holiday.**


	9. I Do

The day of the wedding had arrived. Grace had her arms loosely round the bedpost as Eliza attempted to tighten her corset.

'Come now, Grace,' Eliza said, her tone, as usual, dull even in its chiding, 'It would be quite improper for a lady to marry with anything more than a seventeen inch waist.'

Grace grit her teeth as she allowed her cousin to pull hard on the ribbons that encased her body so tight that she found it hard to breathe. She couldn't care less about the size of her waist. Considering the events that were to pass that day it was the least of her worries; but in the absence of a maid, who were all occupied preparing the gardens and the ballroom for the ceremony, she had had to make do with Eliza - to whom she had to pretend she was ecstatic about her marriage lest it ever got back to Jane that it was forced upon her.

'Colonel Tavington will not be impressed if his wife's stomach hangs limply over her waistband,' Eliza said with as much gaiety as her listless soul could manage.

'Indeed, I'm sure he would not,' Grace said, undetected sarcasm heavy in her tone.

'You are lucky,' sighed Eliza. 'What I would not give for a noble man of the crown.'

Grace had to fight hard not to snort. Tavington was hardly a 'noble' man. She had made it her business to find as much out about him as possible in the days leading up to their marriage and had discovered that his dubious reputation was well deserved. Some of the more loosely tongued ladies had relayed to her the predicament of his family – four sisters and the Colonel, left not a penny by their father, who had been a gambling, whoring, scarcely pitiable man. This, however, had not bothered Grace so much (her own family history being as chequered) as the way they spoke about his reputation as the Dragoon commander – ruthless, remorseless, feared. The fate of the colonials he captured seemed as much dependent on his mood as the correct protocol of war, and his casualties were wide and numerous. There were even hints that he had killed innocent villagers who stood in his way, and though Grace knew little of military regulations she could not but think that this was against the very morality of England.

In any case nothing that she had heard had made her relish the opportunity of becoming the Colonel's wife. Their meeting in the library stuck firmly in her mind; the way he had kissed and manhandled her told her that he had no intention of disappointing his reputation by treating her honourably.

Grace's hands grew clammy around the solid oak bedpost as she thought about what may lie in store for her that evening. She was not naïve and she knew what was expected of a wife on her wedding night. Her mother's diary had been quite explicit in some places about the intimate moments between her and her Captain – and the loving kisses and tender embraces had sounded wonderfully exciting to the young Grace. However, there was no excitement now. She had no illusions that the Colonel would treat her equally gently and warmly. Her only desperate hope was that he may not wish to become acquainted with her in such a way. After all their marriage was part of a mercenary pact. Perhaps he would have no interest in making such advances. In the back of her mind, however, she couldn't shake his words in the library when he spoke of their wedding; '_Perhaps you will be in a slightly more amiable mood._'

'Arms up, Grace,' Eliza said. She pulled a heavy gown over Grace's head, smoothing it down over Grace's corset and petticoats. Lord Cornwallis had brought the gown to the colonies specifically for his Granddaughter's use. It had been his late wife's, intended eventually for Grace's mother as the eldest daughter. It had been hanging untouched in a back room of Cornwallis's mansion since her death and it had been with reluctance that Cornwallis had ordered it to be taken out of its concealment, the dust of sixteen years brushed off as though it had never gathered - but he felt that it was a fitting tribute to his daughter that Grace be wed in the dress intended for her.

When Grace had been presented with it she had at first been indignant, as it suggested to her Grandfather had planned her engagement from before they had even left England's shores; however, when she had learned the history behind the dress she had been slightly appeased – it made for a wonderful story.

In any case it was beautiful. Eliza gave an unexpected gasp of pleasure as Grace stood before the full-length looking glass regarding her reflection. She was a picture of striking youth. The dress was white brocade, pulled in acutely at the waist but billowing out below it like an opened tulip. It was punctuated by a modest amount of small, harshly cut, precious stones - emeralds, sapphires and diamonds – twinkling as magnificently as stars in a clear sky. The top half was woven from the finest silk and rose high over her chest. She wore pearls round her neck; each one had been a birthday present from her Grandfather so that the thick gold chain now bore seventeen – the largest, positioned at her throat, had been given to her this morning.

'Oh Grace,' Eliza said, with perhaps the first genuine pleasure Grace had ever heard in her voice, 'It's as though it were made for you.'

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Colonel Tavington stood in position at the end of the aisle that had been constructed in the gardens. He was dressed in a crisp new Dragoon uniform that Cornwallis had had made by one of his personal tailors. It was cut with the best cloth that Tavington had ever felt against his skin, and the buttons on his tunic glistened like gold in the mid-morning sunshine. Uniforms were hard to come by and Tavington felt some satisfaction as he saw the other men looking at him with faces almost as green as his tunic; there were going to be definite advantages in having the commander of the British army as family.

He was making small talk with Ederick, who had been granted the day off from his duties to attend the wedding as Tavington's groomsman. Irritatingly, and despite Lord Cornwallis's assurances of a 'small ceremony', Tavington found himself at the center of a congregation of around sixty or seventy people sat in quickly erected pews to witness his marriage to Grace. The gardens had been elaborately decorated with red, pink and white English roses and there was a bountiful feast laid out indoors, contained on freshly polished silver platters and accompanied by matching goblets ready to be filled with the best wine Cornwallis could procure in war time. It seemed far too lavish a wedding to bestow upon for the daughter-of-a-whore, but then Cornwallis always had an extremely high opinion of himself and his family. Tavington fumed silently, not because he was displeased at being surrounded by such luxury – it would do his status in the eyes of his men no harm at all – but because it appeared to suggest that his marriage to Grace was a most romantic attachment, rather than what it was in actuality – a mercenary exchange.

'Humph, ' Ederick muttered as the violinists began to play the wedding march, 'I see the General has given the wench his own wife's dress, when everyone know that it is by rights Eliza's to wear.'

Tavington turned his gaze to where Ederick indicated. As he did so a thin eyebrow raised slightly on his bronze forehead. Grace was dressed in the most ostentatious dress that he had ever seen on a lady. He had to admit that she did not at all make a displeasing sight as she walked towards him escorted by Cornwallis – her face flushed, either by the heat or by apprehension of having every pair of eyes gaping in her direction. Several hushed gasps could be heard as she walked down the aisle. It was perhaps not surprising as the dress was decorated with real gems and must have cost more than a full year's salary.

Tavington held out his hand for Grace's as she and Cornwallis reached him. Cornwallis nodded sagely at the Colonel and kissed Grace's cheek as though in farewell. Grace reluctantly placed her hand in the Colonel's and his fingers clamped down on her own much harder than was necessary, his expression malevolent.

Grace grew more and more light-headed throughout the ceremony. Her stays cut cruelly into her chest, restricting her breath, and the dress felt like a heavy blanket swaddling her in the baking heat. As the minister progressed through the rites, Tavington tonelessly echoing the vows put to him, she had the vague notion that she was on a rack being stretched relentlessly bit by bit.

'Grace Victoria Cornwallis, wilt though have this man to thy wedded husband, wilt thee love him, and honor him, and obey him, in health and in sickness, as a wife should a husband, and forsaking all others on account of him, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?'

'I –I,' she said, her head swimming.

The minister looked enquiringly at Grace as she felt the words stick in her throat.

'Miss Cornwallis?' he prompted again.

There were a few murmurs from the crowd, and Tavington, his irritation reaching its peak dug his nails painfully into her hand.

'Pull yourself together,' he hissed, 'and answer.' She looked blankly at his cold eyes, as sharp as razors in his rigid face.

'I – I do,' she said at last, the pain in her hand restoring some of her senses. Tavington let go of her hand. The crowd exchanged knowing looks – they assumed that Grace had been too overcome with emotion to speak and that her groom had offered some kind words of encouragement to steel her. A few moments later Grace and the Colonel were married.

After the ceremony Grace had scarcely a moment to think. The feast was noisy, the wine flowed freely, and there were endless toasts to her and her new husband's health. Tavington had said not a word to her since the ceremony, except to instruct her that she was to have no more than two glasses of wine. Grace had felt indignant at this order, as she noticed that he filled his own glass liberally and often, but he had looked at her with such challenge that she had decided to comply. Anyway it was not done for ladies to drink to excess, and particularly not at their own weddings – where, as she had discovered quickly, she had a duty to speak to each and every old goat who her Grandfather had deigned to invite.

She now looked absentmindedly around the extravagant ballroom. Tavington, though not directly responsible for the guest list, had invited a band of dubious looking Redcoats. He had been challenged earlier by her Grandfather about the choice, but had simply said that he felt his men ought to be represented. They were not a bad-looking set of men, but Grace knew that they were probably amongst those in the British army who had been enlisted on the promise of freedom from jail and she was surprised that he would show them such gratuity. They were seated closely to Eliza and Jane, and Grace had noticed with some amusement that Jane had shot more than a few interested glances in their direction. She wondered what her Uncle would make of such a display by his youngest daughter, but he seemed to preoccupied with the copious consumption of brandy to pay too much attention.

The one thing in the entire day that had given Grace pleasure was the appearance of her younger uncle, Joseph Cornwallis. He had been given a few days furlough to make the journey from the south for the wedding and she had been delighted to see him in the congregation, though she had thus far not had the chance to speak with him. He made his way over to their table now. He was the most handsome of the Cornwallis family; his brown eyes twinkled with merriment and his short brown hair hung in pleasant waves around his face. His most defining feature was a large regal nose, crooked, though not unpleasantly, from a childhood injury.

'Grace!' he exclaimed, as she rose to kiss him, 'How wonderful to see you – you look quite the picture of elegance in my mother's dress.'

'Uncle,' she said, allowing him to take hold of her hands and twirl her around, 'You too look well! I see that a military life agrees with you.' He smiled.

'I don't doubt that it has,' Tavington cut in, drawing himself away from a conversation with one of the Dragoons. 'I do not believe that your Uncle has as yet had the pleasure of seeing much of battle.' Tavington wore a placid smile indistinguishably close to a sneer. Joseph's face darkened.

'Tavington,' he said in curt recognition.

'Colonel Tavington actually.'

'Yes I have heard of your reputation,' Joseph said quietly.

'And I have heard nothing of yours,' Tavington said, watching the man carefully for his reaction.

Grace looked angrily at the Colonel. She had the feeling that he was trying to provoke her uncle, but she did not understand the motive. As far as she knew the two knew little about each other, and certainly their paths had never crossed.

'Perhaps, Sir, that is because the notoriety that surrounds such a name as your own is not something that I seek to gain.'

'No indeed,' Tavington said, smiling lazily, 'one has to be willing to put oneself in the line of fire to gain such infamy. I confess to having such inclinations. On the other hand there are those who – well, what could you say? – like to play a more secondary role in the military campaign - much safer, though just as important I'm sure.'

Even Grace could see that this was a definite slight. Her Uncle's jaw clenched, his face crimson – Tavington had struck a nerve.

'I do not believe that war is won solely through the spilling of blood, Sir, - especially not innocent blood.'

'Evidently,' Tavington said with an annoying smile, 'and I suppose the son of a Lord has more need of protection than the rest of the officers…'

Grace thought for a moment that Joseph was about to reach for his sabre. To her relief, however, he seemed to think better of it – she knew he was no match for Tavington.

'Perhaps, Sir,' he said coldly, 'you will grant me the company of your wife for a few moments. There is a gift I wish to bestow upon her.' Tavington waved his hand dismissively.

'You may go, my very dear wife,' he said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the last words. 'But please, Lieutenant, do not keep her for long. I shall be requiring her company later on.' He looked Grace up and down pointedly as he said this, his eyes lingering over the hidden cleavage of her bosom. He seemed intent on provoking Joseph, and by the look on her Uncle's face it had worked.

Joseph led Grace out into the corridor. Once they were out of earshot he fumed.

'Whatever possessed father to betroth you to such a repulsive man!' Joseph said, pounding a nearby wall furiously. 'He is nothing but a villain and a cad.'

'I – I – He thought it was for the best,' Grace said, taken aback at the venom in her Uncle's voice - he was usually so good natured.

Joseph turned to look at her gravely, his forehead lined with concern and his eyes dark.

'Grace, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me truthfully.' Grace nodded. He paused for a long moment before going on. 'Did you … have you – ' he seemed unable to word what was on his mind - 'that is, did the Colonel seduce you?'

Grace was stung.

'Certainly not! Do you think I would let a man like the Colonel anywhere near me unless Grandfather instructed it?' She was furious that her Uncle would think such a thing of her and she turned away from him. He put his hand on her shoulder.

'Look, I'm sorry. Its just that – well, my sister …'

'So you think that I would make her mistake? Like mother like daughter? Oh, you're just as bad as everyone else. Just leave me alone.' But Joseph didn't remove his hand; he pulled her gently to face him. As he did so she forgave him immediately – his eyes were so filled with remorse.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I just refuse to believe that my father would permit you to marry the Colonel with his blessing.'

'It is at his request that I am joined with the Colonel,' she said. As Joseph shook his head sadly Grace looked searchingly up at him. 'Is he really as bad as all that?' she asked, not wanting to know the answer. The panic that had been threatening to overcome her all day began to rise; it encircled her body like a serpent constricting its prey.

Joseph seemed to weigh up his words carefully.

'He has a dreadful reputation,' he said at last. 'Though a reputation can of course be greatly exaggerated,' – Grace thought immediately of the 'Ghost', he had a terrible name but had acted like a gentleman with her.

'Still I know at least that he is ruthless,' Joseph went on. 'One of the Redcoats that I command was once a corporal who served in Tavington's regiment. He witnessed his brutality first hand when Tavington ordered the execution of several young …' Joseph suddenly cut himself off. 'Sorry my dear Grace,' he said noting her stricken face. 'I did not mean to frighten you. A man may do many things in battle that he would not do in his everyday life.' Grace was not convinced by his change of tack.

'It is too late,' she said. 'I am married.'

Joseph grabbed hold of her arms.

'Listen to me Grace,' he said with vehemence. 'I will do what I can to protect you. Should Tavington hurt you I want you to get word to me.'

'And what would you do Uncle?' Grace said. 'I am Tavington's wife. The law says that _he_ is my protector. Its says that I am his to command.' Joseph let go of her arms.

'I said I will do what I can Grace. It would not take much persuasion for me to break the law for Tavington.' Grace appreciated his words, but she had the feeling they were born from foolish bravado. After all, Tavington was a superior officer; he was older, stronger, and, if some of the ladies were to be believed, was an accomplished sword fighter. Grace would not allow her Uncle to be killed on her account. She did not voice this however, feeling that Joseph had already been provoked enough that afternoon.

'Thank you Uncle,' she said instead. He smiled, evidently glad that he had been of some assurance.

'Well, I shall say no more of the matter today, but I wanted to give you this.' He held out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials. Wrapped in it was a thin silver bracelet, the letter 'G' engraved on a small oval plaque in the center.

'Oh, it's beautiful,' she exclaimed.

'It was your mother's,' he said. 'Goderick left it in my possession before he went abroad.' Grace was overcome with emotion. She embraced her uncle tightly.

'Just promise me Grace,' he whispered into her hair, 'Promise me if he does anything to you …'

'I promise,' she said quietly, her fingers crossed tightly behind his back.


	10. The Cotillion

As Grace made her way back to the dining table she saw Tavington draining a glass of wine, a cigar poised in one hand. He was deep in conversation with her grandfather. She had the sudden urge to bolt in the opposite direction, but, unfortunately for her, Lord Cornwallis saw her and ushered her over.

'The violinists are about to play a jig,' Cornwallis said. 'Tavington, you and Grace will be expected to lead.' Tavington nodded. 'I will instruct the domestics to clear the floor.' He rose with a smile, leaving Grace to take the seat next to her husband.

'So,' he said, his eyes glinting, 'What present did your dear Uncle Joseph bestow upon you?' She looked at him coldly.

'A bracelet.'

'Excellent,' he said, pulling her wrist towards him to admire the thin silver band. 'My wealth increases by the moment. Lord Cornwallis has just presented me with this.' She flinched slightly as he drew a sword from his side. He looked amused at her reaction. In his hand was a curved, shining silver blade with an elaborate hilt crafted from smooth ivory and encrusted with jewels. 'A wedding present from your family - most charming.' Grace couldn't speak. Her entire body seethed with anger. Tavington could scarcely make it more obvious that he had married her for wealth – and it seemed that her grandfather, too, was happy with the arrangement; she was simply a commodity to be exchanged at their will.

The violinists played an introduction at the other side of the hall. Tavington sheathed his sword.

'Come Grace,' he said, rising and holding out his hand for hers, 'lets get this charade over with.' Grace turned away from him.

'I am not in the mood.' She cast her eyes away from where Cornwallis's guests were forming a circle around the polished dance floor expectantly; the ladies anxiously scanning the room for a partner and the men setting their goblets down still half-full so they would be free to take a hand. The night was now drawing in - the moon visible through the open window. Hundreds of candles had been lit in the silver candelabras that adorned the table and the chandeliers suspended from the ceilings. They twinkled pleasantly illuminating the entire room with a warm glow. It was the perfect setting for a wedding party – but Grace couldn't have felt more distant from it.

'It wasn't a request,' Tavington said. He thrust his hand under her elbow and yanked her harshly to her feet. Grace tried to shrug him off but he held her firmly, propelling her forward, the guests parting as they made their way to the center of the circle. 'Don't be shy,' he said dropping his voice low as they positioned themselves in readiness for the dance, 'I heard your mother was a very – good – dancer.'

Lord Cornwallis was announcing the start of the 'cotillon' (one of the favoured dances of King George III) in the background, smiling broadly at the newlyweds.

'Still, I would expect no less from a whore,' Tavington went on said, his face set into a rigid smile so that the younger ladies in the crowd whispered with excitement about the affection between the Colonel and his bride.

His fingers circled her wrist before she even had chance to draw back her hand. 'Not this time,' he said pulling her close as the dance started up. 'I think its time you learned that a young lady keeps her hands to herself, don't you? Now smile for Lord Cornwallis.' His nails were buried like rose thorns in the bare skin of her wrist as he held up her arm in readiness for the dance. He placed his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her body with a sharp movement close to his. With the attentive eyes of the room upon every inch of her, Grace had no choice but to comply. She smiled, pretending that it was the arms of any but he around her waist – Gabrielle perhaps.

'Begin,' said Cornwallis, clapping his hands together to signal the start of the dance.

The Colonel actually danced very well. He led Grace effortlessly, spinning her from one end of the room to the other, his movements matching her own with perfection. He held her with such rigidity that she could look nowhere but his glittering eyes, which did not leave her own for even a second. She could see her own reflection in them, a stretched, twirling head, dancing in deep dark pools. She felt herself grow once more faint. The ferocity of the music made her head to swim; her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her breath quickened. Only the Colonel's arms holding her aloft, making her body move with his, prevented her from swooning. All around her couples were filing onto the dance floor to join them for the exchange of partners.

'Colonel,' she said, her breath catching in the back of her throat, 'I feel quite faint.' She did not like having to admit this to Tavington, but she felt that if she danced any longer she would lose control of herself, and she could not bear to do so in front of such an audience. He kept her dancing for a few moments until she could take it no longer. 'Please,' she said desperately. He curled his lips into a mocking smile.

'Very well.' He escorted her to one of the wooden stools that lined the floor. 'Sit here,' he commanded. He clicked his fingers and immediately one of the well-dressed servers crossed over to them.

'Yes Sir?'

'Bring her a goblet of water.'

'Yes Sir.'

Grace looked down, refusing to meet Tavington's eyes. A few moments later the attendant reappeared with the water, which she readily drunk. The Colonel stood watching her. After a few moments they were joined by Lord Cornwallis.

'Is everything alright?' he asked brightly.

'Yes General. Grace was overcome, but I think she is feeling much better now.'

'Well it's been a busy day for all of us.'

'Indeed.'

Lord Cornwallis opened his mouth to say something, clearing his throat slightly. Just as the words escaped his lips however, there was an overzealous toot from one of the brass trumpets which had joined the violins.

'General?' Tavington prompted.

'Well, I was just thinking. The guests are now occupied … ' – Lord Cornwallis's face had reddened slightly.

'Yes?'

'Er – perhaps this would be an apt time for you and your bride to – well – _retire_.' Grace looked up with horror at her Grandfather. She knew she could not avoid what was to come forever, but she had hoped that the free-flowing wine and brandy might keep Tavington at the reception for a while longer – perhaps even to the point where he passed out.

'An excellent idea, Sir,' Tavington said, with a sidelong glance at Grace - pleased at the reaction upon her face. Their dance had aroused him - her slender and graceful body pressed into his - and he was not at all reticent to comply with the General's request. He meant to enjoy his new bride, whether she wanted him to or not.

'Yes, well,' Cornwallis puffed, unable to meet the eyes of his granddaughter, 'please be discreet. I do not want the ridiculous procession that accompanies the weddings of the lower orders. Grace is too young for such an ordeal.'

'Of course,' Tavington replied. He himself did not care whether Grace's blushes were spared or not, but he decided that he would humour the General by not announcing (as was custom) that they were about to retire to the marital bed.

Resigned to her fate, and reluctantly grateful for this discretion, Grace allowed Tavington to lead her quietly to the staircase that was to lead to a room prepared for them in the west wing. The corridor was cold, and near deserted.

'Isn't that your cousin?' Tavington remarked as they made their way up the sweeping staircase, something like triumph in his voice. Grace turned sharply round to see a young couple in an obvious embrace in the shadows of the entrance hall. The man seemed to be one of the redcoats that Tavington had invited to the wedding, and though the lady was shielded by his bulk Grace thought she saw the pink silk of her cousin's gown from between his legs.

'Certainly not,' she said, with more conviction than she felt. Tavington smiled, but did not contradict her, simply tightening his hold on her arm as he led her slowly up the stairs.


	11. Wedding Night

**WARNING: There is a reason that this story is rated 'M' (!). Please don't read this chapter if you might be offended by it. – it is not essential to the story, but a bit of fun for those who want to see grace and the Colonel become more intimate.**

**Enjoy!**

Tavington stood, brandy in hand, silently watching his bride. The bedchambers were dark and shadowy, lit only from the dull glow of the fire that crackled loudly to disturb the deadly silence of the room. Grace was sat on the bed refusing to meet his eyes.

'Come here,' he instructed.

Grace did not move and inch. Tavington clenched his jaw. He crossed the room and grabbed her wrists pulling her unceremoniously to her feet and back to his first position. Grace's eyes were filled with anger.

'Listen to me _Mrs Tavington_,' he said harshly. 'If I tell you to do something – you do it. Understand?' He was getting extremely impatient by the way he had to force her into every move; he was used to his orders being obeyed with immediacy by his men.

'I'm not your slave,' she said with vehemence, wrenching her arms from his.

'No,' he said, his tone light, 'you're my wife.'

All the emotions that had been building in Grace throughout the day seemed to come to a head at these simple words; her frustration at being forced into a marriage that she did not want; her anger at the way her new husband conducted himself; her helplessness that had accompanied her to the marital bed. She flew at him with raised fists intending to wipe the smirk off his face with all the might she could muster.

She caught Tavington off guard. Though he was excellent at reading men poised for battle, women in seemed were more problematic. In any case Grace was able to mark his smooth bronze face in two places before he regained control, pinioning her arms behind her head, her back against the wall. He stood watching her for a few moments, his eyes flashing with fury, before drawing back his hand and striking her hard across her cheek. Grace gasped.

'I told you that a young lady keeps her hands to herself,' he said, noting with satisfaction the fear in Grace's eyes and admiring the redness of her cheek - 'let that be a lesson to you.'

Grace had never been struck in such a way by any man. Her cheek burned, and tears of pain and humiliation sprung to her eyes. Rage reared within her like a wild animal and she fought hard to keep it within her breast. She knew that the Colonel was a brute and would have loved to retaliate, but, as her husband, she knew also that he had the right to subject her to chastisement if she disobeyed him. Before today she had thought that he would not dare to strike her, but now she was his wife it was not done for anyone, not even her Grandfather, to interfere. She felt a grudging fear of how the evening might proceed.

As if in answer the Colonel suddenly pushed his face close to hers, his lips clamping onto her own in a crushing embrace. He dropped her wrists, pulling her away from the wall and wrapped his arms tightly about her back forcing her body close to hers. His tongue parted her lips and sampled her roughly, flicking itself against the tender skin of her mouth and penetrating almost to her throat, the vague tinge of brandy still on his lips. She pushed hard against his chest but his embrace was relentless. She felt him tasting her hungrily, his lips burning her as his unyielding hands grasped her buttocks and pinched them with invasive fingers. She felt weak in his grasp. Her head was light and to her confusion she had to fight hard to keep her own hands from reaching for his body.

Tavington decided he had waited long enough – his new wife needed to be taught exactly what he expected from her. He picked her up heavily in his arms. She struggled hard against this advance kicking her feet, but he overpowered her easily. He placed her down on the bed, his body on top of hers, crushing her. He pinned her arms again above her head, using his sturdy leg to stay her kicking legs. His rough tongue searched her mouth relentlessly, viciously, and with her hands above her head she was powerless to prevent him.

After a few moments of brutal embrace his free hand rode down to the hem of her skirts and hitched it up to her waist. He looked down and saw that her petticoats had also ridden up to reveal her smooth, bare white ankles, her silk slippers still on her feet. He pushed the shaped petticoats and her chemise up as well so that her entire legs were exposed to him. She had luxurious skin and a slender shape and he felt his manhood harden within his breeches. He moved his hand to the silk of her drawers, placing his hand on her most intimate part. He felt her body jolt and looked back down into her eyes. Her face had flushed a deeper red than that of her struck cheek.

'Take your hands off me,' she gasped, humiliated at the way his hands fondled her body so blatantly.

'I don't think so,' he replied, before kissing her violently again. She struggled but it was no use - his hand freely caressed her. The embrace seemed to last forever; his forceful mouth and firm hands searching her violently. She felt weak beneath him, the warmth of his touch stirring something deep inside of her. He fondled her relentlessly, his free hand manipulating a place where she had never been touched.

'No,' she muttered - but with her hands secured she was powerless to prevent him from awakening the senses of her body. Every inch of it seemed to conspire against her, his touch arousing warmth that shot through her body penetrating to her toes and her finger tips.

The Colonel felt her relax beneath him. He bruised her lips mercilessly, whilst keeping up a rhythmic caress. He knew that he was bringing her, somewhat unwillingly, to the brink of desire as her breath had quickened. He released her hands from his grasp, feeling them immediately push against his chest in protest. The weight of his body kept her there as his firm hand grabbed and fondled her breasts through the heavy material of her dress, the jewels scratching his fingers. The skirts of the dress was now up around her waist but he made no attempt to loosen her corsets or unclothe her top half; now she was his wife there would be plenty of time to sample her bare bosom. He hadn't expected to enjoy his assault on his maiden bride so greatly, but as he felt her bare thighs struggle beneath his grip and saw her eyes filled with fire his erection grew to an admirably long, hard, length, sheathed ruthlessly by his coarse cotton britches.

After a long few moments of passionate caress she made the sound that he had waited for; moaning low and long. Immediately he jerked his free hand away from her intimate quarters and repositioned it on her wrists, securing them once more above her head. He leaned forward, his face almost touching hers, so that she could taste the brandy on his breath and feel his hot breath on her cheek.

'Now listen to me,' he said, in a low but triumphant tone, 'I did not marry you so that you could sigh like a whore beneath me. If I had wanted a whore I would have procured one with the more than generous dowry that your Grandfather bestowed upon me. If such a sound escapes your lips once more then I shall turn you over onto your stomach and take you like you were a harlot. Tonight you are my chaste wife and you will play your role.' He said the words with such threat that Grace quivered slightly beneath him arousing him further. He had been baiting her, imploring her to reach the point of want, knowing that he would then use it against her.

Anger racked through the pores of Grace's body. She knew that Tavington had brought her to the brink of desire to humiliate her. She was now so hopeless against a craving deep inside her body that she was unsure of whether she would be able to comply with Tavington's order. However she did not doubt that he would keep his word and so she grit her teeth and said nothing.

'Good,' he said, before wrenching her undergarments from her and resuming his caress.

Grace had to fight hard to prevent herself from calling out once again. It seemed that the more that she set her jaw in rejection of the Colonel and his violating hands, the more that her body desired him. She had to bite her lips hard to stop them parting in a moan.

Tavington was pleased at the obvious turmoil that wracked his bride. Though she knew that by law she was required to give herself to him she was fighting hard against her desire. His manhood now throbbed painfully. He had not anticipated that he would feel such lust for Grace - given that his marriage had been born out of the General's will - but as he felt her toned, youthful body beneath him he had the sudden urge to take her as violently as he could. He reached down and released his rock solid erection. Using his legs to spread her own he suddenly parted her legs wide, and, making sure he restrained her arms tightly, he thrust himself into her virginity. She called out loudly in pain but this did not deter him. He thrust again and again taking her body over and over.

Grace felt herself breathless from the first violation of her body. She was now at an indistinguishable border between pain and pleasure, not understanding why that which she wanted so little her body desired so much. Every thrust of the Colonel made her bite her lip harder to prevent herself calling out. The losing of her virginity hadn't been nearly as painful as she had feared, but the knowledge that she was almost enjoying the Colonel's onslaught, her skirts up around her waist and her nipples erect under her dress, was almost too agonizing to bear. She had shut her eyes in the vain hope of distancing herself, but now opened them to look directly at Tavington. She saw that, for once, his hair had come loose from its thong, hanging wildly around his face; beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and her stomach gave a strange jolt at the way his face was flushed with heat and his eyes closed with concentrated pleasure.

Tavington, perhaps feeling her gaze upon him, snapped open his eyes. Immediately, and with great restraint, he halted his movements. He grabbed a handful of Grace's hair and she gasped in pain as he tilted her head back, the large pearl that Lord Cornwallis had presented her with that morning cutting into her throat. She was positioned to she was looking directly into his piercing eyes. She could not struggle as the more she did the more excruciatingly his fingers tangled into her hair pulling her scalp tightly so that it seared with burning pain. He pushed his face, once again, close to hers.

'Shut your eyes,' he said, in the most chilling tone Grace had yet heard from him, 'and do not open them again.' He had no intention of allowing her to watch his climax. Grace complied immediately, but, instead of the expected release, Tavington held her hair as he resumed his violent thrusts. A few minutes later Grace felt his release deep within her body - a low groan escaped from the back of his throat. In his own reverie he seemed to have missed the moan had she had been unable to prevent escaping her own lips moments before.

They both paused there, their bodied still connected as they panted in the gloom; the marriage was now consummated.

**Hope you enjoyed the update … please let me know what you think!**


	12. A Soaking

Benjamin Martin and his men were gathered in a woodland clearing resting their horses. It was early morning but already the sunlight danced on the creek, the water cool and fresh to the tired hands and feet of the men. Birds chirped pleasantly in the trees - which stood tall and proud offering ample protection from the eyes of the enemy - and the shrubbery gleamed with lustre. All in all it was easy to forget that they were in a middle of a war for independence. Benjamin, however, could see that his son, who had taken up the position next to him on a large and jagged rock, was perplexed.

Nearby the men were discussing the intelligence that Burwell had gained. They already knew that Colonel Tavington had been wed, but more importantly they had now discovered that he had been given one weeks furlough in honour of his marriage. Benjamin personally thought it unwise of Lord Cornwallis to be so lenient with the Dragoon Colonel, particularly since the militia had had recent success in intercepting supply lines which it was up to Tavington to protect. But it was a stroke of luck for them. Privately Tavington was feared amongst many of the patriots with the same fervour that the 'Ghost' was amongst the Redcoats. It seemed to have lifted the morale of the men to know that he was out of action for the present. The time was rife for another strike. The voices of the men were filled with little heard gaiety as they speculated, somewhat coarsely, on the disposition of a woman who would allow herself to be made the wife of the Dragoon.

It seemed, however, that his son had other things on his mind. He was broaching for at least the fifth time that week the subject of the lady they had met with near the swamp.

'But father,' Gabriel said, 'the girl must have known where we were hiding. She was but two feet away when we discussed it.'

'Perhaps she is a patriot,' Benjamin said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

'Don't joke father. If she was a patriot then we should have taken her with us for it is certain that she fell in to the hands of the Dragoons.'

His meeting with the young lady weighed heavily on Gabriel's mind. As a precaution the men had vacated the hideout that Benjamin was certain the girl must have heard them discuss. They had left one of the younger men to watch over it yet it had been a week and still there had been no search. Gabriel, who had been quite taken by the young woman, now worried for her safety. It would have been easy for her to have turned them over to the British, and even easier for her to have given them a description which an impressionist could sketch onto the wanted posters which offered a great reward for the capture or death of the 'Ghost'; but so far none had come. He began to wonder if the young lady had in fact made her way back to her home at all, or whether the Dragoons had proved their brutal reputations.

'Son,' Benjamin said more seriously, sensing his son's distress, 'she spoke as smoothly as a princess and her nose was as disdainful as a queen. She is not a patriot, mark my words. There are few British ladies to have made the trip to the colonies; she must be the daughter of a Lord at least – there is no way that even a Dragoon would trifle with such a lady; honour is everything to the British.' Gabriel swung his head round to look with anger at his father.

'Is it honour, Sir, that spills the blood of innocents?'

'No - but neither is it Lords. They are happy enough to watch from the sidelines.' Benjamin was amused at his son's ardour; he wondered if there was more to his fears for the lady than simple charitable concern. Benjamin did not mean to defend the British and their intentions – it had not been honour that had killed Thomas - but he was satisfied that this lady, whoever she was, would not have been touched. After all it was the colonial women who suffered at the hands of the British army, not their own. He relayed as much to his son, watching him carefully for his reaction.

'She had no escort,' Gabriel said quietly, still not appeased.

'She had a fine horse – which, I am almost certain, came directly from the stables of Cornwallis himself. If I am right then she could have no greater protection than his.' Gabriel considered this for a few moments then felt a strange relief seep into his stomach.

'Perhaps you are right father,' he said at last. 'Still I cannot help wonder why then she did not give our camp away.' Benjamin's thick eyebrow raised high above his sky-blue eyes.

'Perhaps, my son, she was as taken with you as you appear to be with her.' Gabriel looked at his father with outrage.

'Indeed I am not!' he said, though as he did so he felt colour creep revealingly into his cheeks.

'No,' said his father more seriously, 'and nor should you be. She is a British lady, and you, my boy, are a colonial farm hand. I would not reveal your hankering to the men. They will think that you do not consider a good American lass fine enough for your lips.' They sat for a few moments in silence, Gabriel's hand tracing the cool water with his fingertips.

'Still, I would like to know that the lady got back safely.' Benjamin groaned. 'If she has kept quiet then we owe her our gratitude. Perhaps I could get closer to Cornwallis's manor and look at his horses …'

Benjamin decided his son needed a sharp shock to bring him to his senses. Gabriel was taken off guard as his father's strong hands suddenly propelled him from the rock and plunged him deep into the icy water with a splash, the mud-slime on the bottom coating his knees as the men about them roared with laughter. He emerged with a face as red as a British uniform – though the water was refreshing he had no desire to be dunked so unceremoniously in it!

'I thought you needed a little cool-down,' Benjamin said, laughing harder at the indignant look on his eldest son's face. Faced with such hilarity, and suddenly feeling foolish for even thinking that he could endanger himself so greatly simply to check on the safety of a British lady, Gabriel began to laugh.

**Thanks to everyone for your reviews – I am really pleased that you liked it and appreciate you taking the time to review … I expect this chapter is a bit of an anti climax, but I have a plan to stick to (which includes more –er –'fun' between Tavington and Grace …)!**

**Akasha Vampire Queen: I can't believe that I spelt Gabriel wrong again! You'll have to excuse me I just can't get it in my head. **

**I read the book of the Patriot then other day and then wished I hadn't – I realise that I have used a lot of 'artistic licence' in the portrayal of some of my characters history! Still it's all relevant so hopefully you won't mind too much.**

**Have a lot of time on my hands at the moment (end of term) so expect an update soon …**


	13. The Morning After

Grace awoke late on her first morning as a married woman. As she rolled over on the satin sheets of the bed she saw that Tavington was already dressed. His new uniform was fastened tightly to his body - the fabric still too coarse to leave any give. His hair was pulled back securely in its leather thong.His sabre, as usual, was at his side, hung on a thick leather belt that radiated a dull sheen in the late-morning sun.

'Finally awake.' he said with some disdain. Actually he was glad that he had had chance to dress before she awoke. It was one thing to sleep with a whore and then return her to the gutter, but it was quite another to share a bed with a lady; the smooth skin of her arms and legs within reach, and her calm, regular breath resounding through the room. It made him feel somehow exposed.

Grace was also uncomfortable. Her cheeks coloured as she remembered the events of the night before.

'Are you going back to battle?' she asked irritably.

'Unfortunately not. Your Grandfather seems to think that a marriage requires a period of furlough. One week actually.' He spoke lightly watching Grace carefully for her reaction; he was pleased to note the slight panic in her eyes.

'But Colonel,' she protested, 'do your men not require you to lead them? Surely you cannot be spared for so great a period?'

'That is hardly your concern,' he said dismissively. 'Now get up and get dressed.'

Grace hesitated for a moment. She did not like the way that he spoke to her and was reticent to leave the safety of the covers. She was still wearing her chemise, and, despite her experiences of the night before, she had never been so undressed in the presence of a man before.

Sensing her hesitation he abruptly wrenched the sheet from the bed. He raised his eyebrow in reluctant admiration at the sight which met him. The silken chemise clung to her body like a second skin - her nipples standing erect in the cool breeze that rushed through the manor. The low cut neckline revealed an ample cleavage and pale skin, delicate like the wings of a butterfly. Last night Grace had turned off the lamp before undressing; now he realised that if she had not she would have had a second, even more frantic, taste of his body's ardour. He felt his erection pull at his trousers.

'Your modesty is beginning to bore me, my dear wife,' he said drily, amused at the anger which flashed through her dark eyes. 'If you are not careful I will correct it by making you strip naked and stand so until your blushes have ceased.'

Grace jumped up from the bed and, forgetting that she was half dressed, stood with her face inches from the Colonel her pale face flushed with humiliation. She did not care at that moment that he loomed at least six inches over her.

'I would rather be handed to the colonial army than strip for you, Sir,' she said fearlessly, forcing every syllable of the sentence to display a vicious contempt.

A flash of fury flickered through Tavington's eyes. His ears throbbed with recklessness. How easy it would be to lift his sabre and slice the chemise from the girl, carrying out his threat; to throw her small frame heavily on the bed and satisfy again the lust he felt - lust that surprised him now as it had the night before. However, he did not want to take the girl in such an uncontrolled manor. He knew that it did not bode well to act rashly on the strength of such impulses – it would reveal too much. Instead he forced his blood to cool, smiling with mocking at the furious girl, contenting his anger by grabbing her chin roughly in his hand so that she was forced to look directly into his piercing stare.

'Don't tempt me,' he said slowly, his fingertips probing the yielding skin. He paused for a few moments as if considering something. 'I will excuse the ignorance of that remark,' he went on, condescension heavy in his tone. 'Now get dressed. You will meet me in the dining room in precisely half an hour.'

Tavington turned to leave, but he hesitated before he got to the door, looking back at Grace with a dangerous glare. 'Mark me, Grace, I will not excuse you again.' He fingered the jewelled hilt of his sabre so that Grace's eyes fell towards it. With that he left the room.

* * *

Several hours later and Grace was being forced to endure the droning voice of her governess, Miss Hinny, as she instructed Grace, Eliza and Jane in the art of needlework. Grace had been surprised when Tavington had insisted that she continue her learning. After all now she was married there seemed little need for a governess. But after a silent breakfast he had informed her that she was still to take lessons with her cousins.

At first Grace had protested, more out of habit than anything else, but then she had begun to see the perks of such an undertaking. It would give her time away from Tavington whilst he was on furlough and it also offered her the opportunity of escape when he had returned to battle. Regrettably she would not be able to attempt to elude her governess whilst Tavington was near by. As he had delivered her to Miss Hinny, and much to the apparent amusement of Eliza, he had instructed her firmly that she was not, under any circumstances, to leave the parlour. He had implored Miss Hinny to get word to him at once if such a thing was too happen: "_For Grace's safety of course_", he had added, his eyes betraying to Grace his insincerity. Of course Miss Hinny had been only too delighted to offer the Colonel her assurances.

So here Grace was; her clumsiness and her restlessness causing her to jab her unprotected fingers with the needle frequently as she attempted to embroider an apple tree onto a cotton panel caught tautly within a wooden frame.

'So, Grace,' Eliza said, as Miss Hinny left the room to retrieve some more dye for the thread, 'how is married life so far? The Colonel appears to have fallen quite deeply for you – he certainly did not wish for you to come to any harm whilst he attended to his business.' Eliza's voice, for once, was filled with amusement and her forehead smooth of wrinkles.

'Oh do be quiet,' Grace said irritably. Eliza smiled knowingly, taking her reticence to discuss her husband as proof that Grace had enjoyed the wedding night.

'Just think, Jane dear,' Eliza went on, 'Any week now it could be one of us who has cause to blush in memory of our wedding night.' Grace was just about to retort that she indeed had not blushed when her eyes fell upon Jane who seemed not to be taking the slightest bit of notice of her sister's speculations. The more she thought about it the more Grace realised that she had not heard her cousin speak a word since she had arrived. 'Did you hear me Jane?' Eliza prompted, 'I said …'

'I heard you,' Jane snapped, silencing the older girl abruptly. Grace was puzzled. She had expected that of the two it would be Jane who would tease her mercilessly about her marriage to Tavington.

'She's been like that all morning,' Eliza whispered to Grace conspiratorially, some of her seriousness returning. 'And she disappeared from the reception without warning. Father thinks that she is sickening for something.' Grace looked closely at Jane. In fact she did look as though she might be ill. Her round face had a pink tinge to it and her pale eyes were bright; her hand appeared to shake slightly as she pushed the needle in and out of the fabric.

It was at this point that Grace remembered Tavington's remark to her as they ascended the staircase: _Isn't that your cousin?_ he had asked. At the time Grace hadn't been certain that it was not Jane caught in an embrace with one of the Redcoat rogues, and now she was almost sure that it had been.

'Jane – _are_ you ill?' Grace asked, hoping that there was some other explanation for her unusual behaviour.

'Just mind your own business _Mrs Tavington_,' Jane retorted with a strange vehemence. Grace was just about to protest when Miss Hinny reappeared with the dye quietening her.

* * *

Colonel Tavington paced the manor with some frustration. Immediately after depositing Grace he had sought an interview with Lord Cornwallis. He wanted to know the plans for the shipments of munitions and gold – amongst which was most likely the dowry he was to receive for accepting Grace's hand. They were arriving from England later that week and he was frustrated that he would not be involved. He had the vague feeling that the militia may try to intercept the delivery and he wished to offer his advice on the matter. Unfortunately when he had approached General 'O Hara to arrange the meeting he had stopped him even gaining entry to the chambers.

'No, Colonel Tavington, Lord Cornwallis has given instruction that your are not to concern yourself with military matters for at least another day.'

'But Sir,' Tavington had protested through pursed lips, knowing that O' Hara was delighting in his exclusion. 'I do not think you understand. The 'Ghost' …'

'Nor are you to speak of the "Ghost", Colonel,' O' Hara interrupted immediately, a gleam of amusement in his pale blue eyes.

'But the shipments – I do not think that the lines are prepared sufficiently for attack.' Tavington spat impatiently, 'It is my belief …'

'_Hold you beliefs right there, Colonel,_' O' Hara had then said more severely, his powdered wig twitching on his head, 'lest you forget to whom you speak. I am the Brigadier General and you will address me as such.'

Tavington had coloured slightly from the rebuke. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten to address O' Hara with the proper deference. He placed his hand behind his back and withdrew slightly.

'Forgive me, General,' he had said through gritted teeth, fighting hard to force each curt word from his lips, 'I merely wished to express concern …'

'I have heard your concern, Sir.' O' Hara had interrupted, feeling satisfied with the demeanour he had forced from Tavington. O' Hara had listened time and time again to Tavington's thinly-veiled insolence and was glad that he had been given the chance to finally reprimand it. He had decided to do the job properly.

'Now here mine,' he continued. '_I_ am concerned that your arrogance allows you to believe that the Dragoons will not function without you. Your words seem to suggest that Lord Cornwallis's army cannot protect its shipments without the "advice"' - he spat the word - 'of a Colonel.'

'That was not my intention, General,' Tavington had muttered, his face crimson at the General's reprimand - privately he thought that that was indeed the truth of it.

'Good - for I assure you, _Colonel_ Tavington, that his majesty's army functioned very well before your appointment and will do so long after your eagerness for glory leads you to your death on the battlefield.'

O' Hara had then looked back down to the papers on his desk as though they had not spoken. When the Colonel had lingered, trying unsuccessfully to find the words that would make O' Hara reconsider, he had looked up and said in his crisp, clipped tone

'You are dismissed Colonel.'

Tavington had had no choice but to bow and leave the General's office, his anger at the point of explosion. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen O' Hara smile to himself before turning back to his work.

It was this, then, that made Tavington fume now. He did not dare to push any further for an early reappointment to the field lest O' Hara took it upon himself to persuade Lord Cornwallis from it. Nor did he dare to approach any of the soldiers positioned around the Manor for news of the war. He thought it likely that O' Hara, if he wished, could show this as a direct violation of his orders.

Tavington was not used to having free time and he was at a loss at how to fill it. He began to regret his decision to relinquish Grace to her governess - but he had made an agreement with Cornwallis to aid her conversion to a lady; and besides which he found he enjoyed making her do that which she so passionately hated. Eventually he decided that a ride may ease his frustration. Since he had found Grace with Cornwallis's horse, Othello - the finest stallion that he had ever laid eyes upon - he had desired to take him for a ride in the brush. He imagined with somevanityjumping him over the creeks and tearing him through flatlands, creating a storm of terracotta dust in their wake.

Resolved he made his way back towards Lord Cornwallis's chambers in order to request the use of his Othello through his foot-soldier. As he approached, however, he heard something that made him draw back into the shadows. The door to the General's quarters was thrown carelessly open, and within it he could hear the angry voice of Joseph Cornwallis.

'You mock me, Sir,' Joseph said, his voice shaking with rage.

'Come now Joseph,' Lord Cornwallis replied, 'I do not mock you.'

'Then my men do.'

'Your men do not mock you.'

Tavington thought that the general spoke to his son like one would to pacify a child. He moved closer, stepping with deft quietness on the wooden floor.

'They speak of me behind my back. They whisper that you protect me from my duties. Even Colonel Tavington ridiculed me for my lack of engagement …'

'Colonel Tavington is a unique example Joseph. He is blood-thirsty. He thrives in battle. It's in his very nature to fight the continentals from the front line.'

Tavington was pleased at this assessment of his character. Joseph seemed even more incensed.

'And why should an officer not fight from the front line?' he said indignantly, pounding his fist on the desk, his brown eyes filled with passion. 'Is it not a man's duty to accompany his men to the battle where he has ordered them? I would be proud to fight from the front line to serve my king and my country.' Cornwallis sighed. He had hoped that his plan to keep Joseph away from battle would not be discovered by his son, who was as headstrong as an ox when riled, and proud and honourable along with it. Though such qualities did not displease Cornwallis - in fact he had a great admiration for the way in which Joseph conducted himself – nevertheless they were going to prove bothersome if he was resolved to keep his only living child from battle.

'Joseph, there is more to war than killing - I thought I taught you that,' he said reasonably.

'You did father. And I am not bloodthirsty like Tavington – I am notdesperate to feel my blade rush through a man as he crumples before me. But I will not be the coward you would make me. I must insist, General, that you reposition me – or I shall be forced to retire my post in disgrace.'

Joseph stood formally now, his hand behind his back and his eyes directed towards an imaginary sky-line as he waited for his General's decision. He had no desire to desert, but he had to make his father see the seriousness of his position. He could not hope to lookhis menin the eye if he was not able to fulfil his duty to the hilt. Every derision of his name cut through him like the blade of a sword and he would not rest until he had bloodied his uniform with honour.

Tavington felt a grudging respect for the young lieutenant. He had thought Joseph a coward – but it seemed that it was his father who had prevented his firsthand engagement with the enemy.

Cornwallis tapped drummed his fingers on the desk absentmindedly. He knew that Joseph had his back against the wall. He did not but doubt that his son would keep his word - and though he did not wish his son to be killed in battle nor did he desire him to be shot as a deserter. He watched him carefully for a few moments.

'Very well, Lieutenant, I will consider the matter.' James beamed. 'Until I reach my decision you will remain at headquarters.'

'Yes, Sir.' James said, saluting his father with zealous precision.

'Very well, you are dismissed. Be sure and dine with us tonight.'

'Yes Sir!'

As soon as he heard the dismissal Tavington crept silently away from Cornwallis's office, his plan for a ride abandoned. Slowly an idea had begun to form itself somewhere deep in his mind and he went to the drawing room to retrieve some brandy so that he could think on it further.

**Thanks for the speedy reviews on chapter 12! Hope you enjoyed this one …**


	14. Joseph's Request

Grace was pleasantly surprised at dinner to see that her Uncle Joseph had still not left for the south. He was sat at the very end of the long, silver laden, table next to her grandfather who was always positioned at the head. They were speaking animatedly and she thought that Joseph looked far happier than the day before; his eyes twinkled like opals and his cheeks were flushed with humour. He threw back his head to laugh at something Lord Cornwallis had said.

'Oh father, you are a rogue sometimes', he declared.

Grace passed her cousins (noting Jane's blank expression) to take up the empty seat next to Joseph; but just as she was about to do so Tavington firm hand grasped her arm, pulling her back slightly to stop her. She jolted at his touch. Surrounded by her family she had almost been able to forget the presence of Tavington and the fact that she was now also a part of his family.

'Sit with your cousins,' he said in a tone just low enough to avoid the ears of the others but firmly enough as to tell Grace it was an order. She scowled. Eliza and Jane were flanked by the insipid Miss Stanley and her gossiping companion Miss Harrrow. Grace couldn't think of a worse combination. Their conversation was always as dull as their senses. Unfortunately she did not want a scene. Tavington's piercing eyes were watching her carefully and she knew that if she ignored him he would humiliate her in some way. Sighing she complied.

Joseph looked up as Tavington took up his seat. His expression immediately transformed as his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

'Good evening Lieutenant. General', Tavington said bowing to Cornwallis and his son in turn. 'Lieutenant I see that you have decided to prolong your stay.'

Joseph gave a slight nod in recognition but his eyes remained fierce.

'Good evening', Lord Cornwallis said. His bulbous nose was glowing with the consumption of mead. He had thoroughly enjoyed his afternoon with his youngest son and had even been thinking more favourably of the idea of repositioning him somewhat closer even though it would mean a closer proximity to battle. He decided to extend him amicability to Tavington. 'You may dispel the formalities at the dinner table if you wish Colonel; after all you are family now – on condition that the men are not around to witness it', he added as an afterthought.

Tavington searched the table. The only dinner guests that evening were the family of Lord Cornwallis and the two ladies who seemed to think of themselves as family. A pleased smile curled at his lips as he noted the absence of General O' Hara.

'As you wish my Lord,' he said, understanding at once that Cornwallis was not referring to himself. 'Of course only if it is agreeable to you _Joseph_?'

Tavington could sense from Joseph's reddening cheeks and pursed lips that it was not agreeable at all, but there was little that he could do. If he refused Tavington this grace publicly then he would have to explain that he thought his father's choice of a match for his niece ill-advised.

'Certainly _William_'.

Tavington found it was his turn to grimace. In his haste to enjoy the younger man's discomfort he had quite forgotten that it would be returned. He did not at all delight in having an inferior ranking soldier address him by his Christian name – in fact this was something that he had allowed from few since he gained his title.

Even from across the room Grace could sense Tavington stiffen at the use of his given name. She smiled.

'Perhaps, grandfather, you could persuade the Colonel to extend the concession to his wife,' she ventured brightly. Faced with the opportunity she was not able to resist the urge to push Tavington further. Tavington's hand tensed around the stem of the crystal goblet in his hand. He glared at Grace, but with such an audience he found that he had to realign his face into forced amicability.

'Certainly he must,' Miss Harrow interrupted, peering over her half-moon spectacles to regard Tavington with the air of a school-mistress. 'You cannot expect your wife to address you as your men do, Colonel Tavington, it is unforgivably coarse.'

Tavington forced his eyes to hide their anger as he turned to the aged spinster. He felt that he could have happily strangled her with the thick gold chain that hung on her oversized neck but instead he curled his lips into a smile.

'Perhaps William thinks it is improper for such a youthful bride to name him as equal', Joseph said grinning. He smiled at Grace, 'Even when her beauty and intelligence more than compensate for her maturity.'

'Why thank-you uncle,' Grace said, returning the smile, 'you are most generous – Isn't he _William_?'

Tavington flinched. 'Not at all my dear', he said through gritted teeth, his anger transferring readily to Grace. He sated himself by visualising a later repayment.

Apparently satisfied with this response Miss Harrow and the other ladies returned to their enthralling discussion about the virtues of a proper length of skirt. Lord Cornwallis returned to his son's future.

'Joseph grows thirsty for battle Colonel,' Cornwallis said as a young maid piled a large quantity of mutton onto his plate. 'He tires of his strategic role.'

'Indeed,' Tavington said, as though hearing this for the first time. 'Well I suppose it is only natural given that he has seen so _little_ of battle. After all,' he added, turning to Joseph with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, 'it is what we are trained for is it not?'

'Quite', said Lord Cornwallis, ushering the maid away to fetch more wine. 'but a battle is not won by combat alone, Colonel. There are those of us who must plan the movements of the men from beyond the field otherwise we would be no better than a stampede of cattle; well dressed cattle of course - maybe even a few boars among us,' he added with a pointed look at Tavington, 'but cattle nevertheless.'

Tavington felt his cheeks redden. He did not like the insinuation that he was somehow a boar in fancy clothing. He kept his temper however – he was used to unflattering jibes from the general. Anyway it was too good an opportunity to waste on anger – his eyes glinted as he thought of how readily Cornwallis and his son were playing into his hands.

'I suppose that you hanker after a position in South Carolina,' he said casually, at the same time pronging his cut of mutton with a fork. 'There is a battle set to follow the one at Monck's Corner I'd wager.'

'Oh I think we will break the colonials soon after Monck's corner Colonel,' Cornwallis interrupted.

'Perhaps my Lord,' Tavington said. He actually thought there was little chance of 'breaking' anyone when the Ghost was still in operation but he did not voice this – Cornwallis had an unwavering (and somewhat arrogant) confidence in his military brain and he did not want to anger him by contradicting him. 'Still I think if they were to resurge it would almost certainly fall to Waxhaws.'

From the corner of his eye Tavington note Joseph sit up slightly.

'If it does of course,' Tavington went on 'we will need the assistance of further mounted infantry – men who are expertly trained on horseback and can handle their sabres from horse – the fields in Waxhaws are as uneven as the cobbled streets of London.'

Ederick turned to participate in the conversation. 'Joseph has spent more time in the saddle than any man I know,' he said. He had the feeling that Tavington was up to something as he had purposefully raised his voice in his direction and shot him a silent look that Ederick knew from experience directed him to support him.

'Indeed', said Tavington enquiringly, again as though he had not had the slightest idea that Joseph Cornwallis was one of the most able horsemen in the British army. Actually Ederick had filled him in, in some detail, on Joseph's strengths and weaknesses as a soldier.

'Father,' Joseph said, sensing his chance, 'if horsemen are required then I could assist. I can train any soldier to marry himself to saddle and if we are to rely on cavalry to take the field then there is none better to serve such a cause than I.'

'Confident isn't he?' Ederick said with a smirk. 'You have to admire his eager spirit though General, and he has been shy of action so far.'

'Yes, thank you Henry,' Cornwallis said curtly, his good-humour beginning to sour at the direction this conversation was heading, 'but as usual Tavington's zeal for engagement runs away with itself – there will be no battle at Waxhaws.'

'But if there is father,' Joseph pressed.

'If there is then Tavington himself will be quite capable of leading the Dragoons to the field if I so order it.'

Cornwallis was now glaring squarely at Tavington. He cursed him for bringing the matter to Joseph's attention. If there was to be a battle at Waxhaws then it would be bloody.

'Of course', Tavington said, feeling that now the groundwork had been set he could relax slightly. 'I would be honoured to triumph in what would be such an important battle. You see, Joseph, I am quite an able horseman myself.'

Joseph hesitated before he continued. He was torn between his distrust and dislike of Tavington and his desperation to secure a position that would allow him the respect of his doubters and the pride of serving his king and country. He exhaled deeply.

'Perhaps, Colonel, you would not be disagreeable to the service of another in the regiment of the Dragoons?'

Tavington sat back in his chair, picking idly at the bones of his leg of mutton. He had noted with satisfaction Joseph's formal address. He shot a slight warning glance at Ederick who had started at the suggestion that Joseph might desire to serve in the Dragoons.

'Well,' began Tavington, pretending to weigh up the matter.

Unfortunately at this point Cornwallis's fist connected loudly with the table causing the ladies at the other end to jump and swivel round.

'Listen to me, BOY,' he said furiously. 'I am the commander of the British army _not_ Colonel Tavington. You will not attempt to procure a position which you know to be disagreeable to myself at _my_ table and right under _my_ nose. And _you_, Colonel,' he said, turning his anger on Tavington, 'you will not encourage it. Just you remember your position.'

'Yes my Lord,' Tavington said, colouring slightly at the General's anger. Inwardly he fumed – Joseph had been almost in his grasp before the General had snatched him away.

'But father it makes sense …' Joseph said, his fists balled on the chair rests. He had not liked having to appeal to Tavington and he did not wish it to have been in vain.

'Not to me,' Cornwallis said. 'Now drop the matter or you will find yourself sent back to England more rapidly than a ball from a cannon. Now this is a family meal and I will not have it disturbed with any more talk of war.'

Joseph was now crimson. He resented being spoken to in such a way in front of Tavington and Ederick. However, he could sense defeat.

'Besides,' Cornwallis went on more gently, seeing his son's distress, 'there is not room for another officer in the Dragoons. There are already two lieutenants and you are not as yet ready for the position of Captain. Now let's not have this talk any longer. Ladies what were you discussing …?'

Further down the table Grace, at the same time pretending to be unwaveringly interested in the most flattering way to lace a corset, had kept an ear upon the exchange between the men. From what she could gather it had looked as though Tavington was about to agree to Joseph's hankering to join the Dragoons – it didn't make sense, Tavington had been more than derogatory towards her Uncle at their last meeting.

She was distracted from her thoughts by Eliza who had leaned close to her and was whispering.

'Sorry,' muttered Grace, 'what was it that you said Eliza?'

'I said', Eliza said raising her voice only slightly, 'that Jane confined herself to her chambers for the entire afternoon. It was most uncharacteristic.'

Grace turned to look at Eliza – her eyes were lined with concern. It made her look even more like an old maid than usual. Grace felt slightly irritated at the way Eliza kept confiding in her. They had never been close – Eliza thought her too 'unpredictable'; but it seemed now she was married Eliza took it for granted that she would be more sedate.

Still Jane had been on her mind. She had tried to find an opportunity to speak with her on her own before dinner, but as Eliza said she had confined herself to her room. As she looked at her now she could see that something was troubling her. She was pretending to participate in the conversation that had been taken up by the table but her eyes kept wandering to the window and casting themselves far over the meadows.

'If she doesn't brighten up I'm afraid I shall have to speak to father about her', Eliza went on.

'No, don't do that', Grace said. Eliza looked slightly taken aback. 'I mean,' Grace went on quickly, 'I will speak with her. See if I can find out what is bothering her. It might be something that she doesn't feel she can talk to you about.'

'Oh would you Grace?' Eliza said eagerly. 'I do so hate seeing her so troubled.'

'Of course,'

'You know,' Eliza went on, 'I do believe that marriage agrees with you Grace. Even though it has been only a few weeks since your engagement was announced you seem somehow more mature.'

Grace grimaced – she did not take it a s a compliment that the sage Eliza found her mature, besides which her marriage was far from 'agreeable.' She cast her eyes up the table towards Tavington. Since her grandfather had left the subject of war she had felt his eyes frequently upon her. It was unsettling how her flesh raised in bumps in response. She had the feeling that he was going to take his revenge for what she had said to the table earlier – he had the innate inability to take a joke.


	15. In the Shadows

**Hi! Just a note to say that this chapter is in a couple of sections – the last section comes with a warning – it's a bit of fun (ehm) for mature readers so don't read it if you might be offended! The warning is repeated before the section begins (see below)**

After dinner Grace was grateful when her Uncle Ederick led Tavington off to the card room to sample some of her Grandfather's brandy. She was slightly uncomfortable seeing that Joseph followed soon after – her Grandfather having been called away by General O' Hara for a report on the day's conflicts. Still there was little she could do. She had the feeling that Joseph may attempt to press Tavington further about his desired change of position and though she could not explain why a shiver passed slowly down her spine even to think of Tavington and Joseph serving together.

She and the other ladies had retired to the parlour. It was still early evening and the sun was only just beginning to die in the sapphire sky. As Grace looked around she noticed that Jane was missing from the party – in fact she had not seen her in the entire hour that had passed since dinner. Eliza was occupied with Miss Harrow and Miss Stanley, reading aloud in her usual monotone from a letter she had received from one of their friends in England. The letters had arrived with a shipment of freshly enlisted men earlier that afternoon. One of the foot-soldiers had brought them from the camp to the manor before dinner where they had been delivered to the recipients on a silver tray conveyed by the young maid Sally.

Grace was able to slip unnoticed from the stifling room. She resolved to find Jane and question her about the night of the wedding. As she searched the empty rooms of the manor (carefully avoiding the card room and her Grandfather's office) she heard raised voices in the library. As she drew closer she recognised one of them as Jane's.

'You are not to say a word to anyone,' Jane snapped.

'But Miss, it is more than my job's worth. I should never 'ave delivered it in the first place. I should 'ave turned it in to the General.'

'The letter was addressed to me wasn't it?' Jane spat back. 'It has nothing to do with my Grandfather or anyone else.' She then sighed – she had not wanted to row the young maid. If anything she wanted her on side and now she could see that Sally's bottom lip was beginning to quiver. 'Look Sally,' she went on more softly, 'you did the right thing bringing it to me privately. The soldier who delivered it is the friend of a dear friend of mine.'

'He didn't seem a very pleasant man, Miss, in fact he was …'

'Oh do be quiet Sally!' Jane said losing her temper again. 'You took the shilling he paid you didn't you? It's no use pretending to be virtuous now.'

'Tha' I did Miss. But I regret it now – really I do.'

'Well you're too late Sally. If you go to Lord Cornwallis now then he'll have you discharged – and probably deported to one of the colonies like a common criminal.'

Grace edged closer to the door of the library so that she had a clear view of the two girls. Sally seemed to be on the verge of tears. She was only a young girl – Grace thought no more than fourteen or fifteen. She was quite plain except for her huge dark eyes which were now glistening with tears as her hands wrung her starched white pinafore in anguish.

'Oh don't say tha' Miss,' Sally cried, 'my mother has five young uns at home and she relies on the little that I send back to her. I only took the shilling for her.'

Grace saw that Jane regretted her harsh words. Her cousin was spoilt but she was not without feelings. She put a comforting arm around the smaller girl. 'Hush Sal,' she said, 'do you want the house to hear you?'

Jane looked quite desperate. Her usually round face appeared strangely gaunt and her cheeks were flushed. Grace noticed beads of sweat forming at her brow.

'Look,' she went on, 'no-one will find out about the letter – I promise.' Sally looked up at Jane, Grace could see that she was desperate to believe her.

'Do you really promise Miss?'

'Of course,' Jane said, more confident now that she could see the younger girl was crumbling. She opened the silk purse that was fastened on a stringto her wrist and took out a silver shilling. 'Here,' she said, 'for the young ones.'

Sally's eyes were now as wide as the wheel of a spinning jenny. 'Oh I couldn't Miss,' she said, jerking her hand away.'

'Of course you can,' Jane said, pushing the shilling into Sally's slowly opening palm. 'Let's just forget about the whole thing. After all it was only a letter – and there is no harm that can come from it.'

Sally hesitated for a few moments. Two shillings in one day was a lot of money and it would support her family for many months. Her fingers curled slightly around the alluring cool metal. 'I suppose not,' she said slowly. 'Though I still think …'

'Quick I hear someone coming,' Jane said suddenly; she was irritated at the way the maid kept trying to talk her out of it. 'You better get back to the kitchens.'

Sally did not need telling twice, she scuttled away, the shiny new shilling wrapped firmly in a handkerchief with the one she had received from the foot-soldier - it had been a fruitful day for the young maid.

Grace waited in the shadows a few moments longer until Jane had taken the letter out of the pocket of her dress and smoothed it out to read; she then crept up behind her cousin peering over her shoulder. 'Who's the letter from Jane?' she said suddenly. Her gaze had fallen down onto a scrawling hand on a crumpled piece of parchment. She could just make out the initials at the bottom _C. W._

Jane jumped as though she had been stuck.

'Don't you ever knock?' she said angrily.

'I didn't realise that I had to knock to enter the library, Jane.'

'Well you should when it is obvious that the person in it desires privacy.' Jane spun on her heel to face Grace – matching red spots had appeared on both her cheeks.

'Funny – I was sure that I heard Sally's voice not a moment ago', Grace said innocently.

'Spying at keyholes now are we Grace? Well it wouldn't surprise me with your background.'

Grace had to try hard force an angry retort back down her throat as her fists balled automatically at her sides. She was not going to rise to the bait and forget why she had come to question her cousin.

'You haven't answered me. Who was the letter from?'

'I don't think that's any of your affair,' Jane said. She made to push past her cousin but irritatingly Grace stepped in front of her.

'Wait a moment Jane,' Grace said. This was not going at all how she had planned. She had hoped to gain Jane's confidence not antagonise her. The letter, however, had thrown even Grace. She had a fair idea who the author might be but she was desperate for a less unpleasant explanation. Jane stood hands-on-hips as she waited for Grace to continue. 'Look – it's not from … Well, I mean ..' Grace struggled to find the right words.

'Stop babbling Grace and get out of my way. I am sure that your husband will be most concerned if you stay from him any longer.'

There was something in the contemptuous way Jane spat out this last sentence which made Grace even more uncomfortable.

'Please Jane, Eliza is worried about you; even I am worried about you. You have not been yourself since the wedding. Why is the letter such a secret?'

'Who said it was a secret?' Jane said stubbornly. 'Just because I do not wish to share it with you! If you must know it is from an acquaintance in England.'

Grace raised her eyebrow sceptically. 'Who?

'That is none of your business. It is someone who desires my return.'

'A beau?'

'Perhaps,' Jane said with a secretive smile. But Grace knew instinctively that that was not the whole of it. If Jane had had a beau in England then she would not have been able to resist sharing such information with Eliza and herself. Further still, she would not have had to pay Sally for her silence and nor would the foot soldier who had delivered the letter from the camp. As Jane had spoken her eyes had brightened almost feverishly and Grace knew she was lying. She decided, however, to let the matter drop for the present as it was obvious Jane was not about to confide in her. Jane, sensing her chance, made to leave, folding the letter back into her pocket.

'Just be careful Jane,' Grace said, as her cousin reached the door. Jane made no reply but simply drew her shoulders back and left the room to return to the parlour.

* * *

Grace had a book in her hand but she was not reading it. Instead she was gazing out of an open window into the vast, inky night, disturbed only by the brilliant white crescent of the moon. As darkness had fallen around the manor the last of the company in the parlour had trailed to bed. Only Grace remained. She had her knees tucked up to her chest on the easy chair furthest from the slowly dying fire. A chill whistled through the shutters but the night was too beautiful to shut out. 

Grace sighed. She wished that she had just followed the others to bed but she knew that more than a few eyebrows might be raised if she sloped off to bed without the husband of her barely two-day old marriage and so, unwilling to provide the old hags with any more fuel for their gossip, she had waited. She cursed herself now for caring what the other's thought of her.

It had, however, given her an opportunity to ponder over what to do about Jane (who had been the first to retire – seemingly eager to get away from Grace's eyes) but she tired of that now. There was nothing that she could say to Jane to get her to confide the source of her strange behaviour. Grace reasoned that even if it _had_ been Jane who she had seen with the amorous soldier, and even if he _had_ sent her a letter, there was no evidence that anything too improper had occurred, particularly in such a short space of time.

It was not in Grace's nature to be patient. Once she had decided that she was irritated with waiting for the Colonel she could not settle back down. She snapped her book closed and stalked from the parlour. She decided to go and seek him out. So resolved was she that she had quite forgotten that she had been earlier pleased to avoid him.

As she drew nearer the card room Grace could see that her Uncle Ederick and Tavington had almost emptied the bottle before them. Joseph was not with them any more and the two sat back reclining in ornately upholstered chairs, brandy glasses as large as fishbowls in their hands. The burning oil lamps cast large webbed shadows over Tavington's self-satisfied face and a fire spat with venom in the background. He had such a malevolent smile upon his face that it made Grace shiver. His eyes were like glass shards, piercing the room with their ice-blue intensity.

Grace felt quite breathless as she wondered exactly what she was looking in on. She had the strangest feeling – as though she was in London again instead of South Carolina and had stumbled upon its darkest depths. The room reminded her of the stories she had heard about the backstreet taverns that housed the phantoms of the underworld.

'To prosperity,' Tavington said raising his glass to Ederick. Ederick seemed to hesitate. Grace noticed that he was looking less certain of himself than Tavington. She thought that his bony fingers trembled slightly as he held his glass aloft.

'To prosperity,' he said slowly, before knocking back the smooth brown liquid with a grimace, as though steeling himself.

Tavington reached his hand out to the bottle and refilled Ederick's glass, his eyes never leaving the other's for a second. His own glass still contained a large measure of the General's brandy. He held the glass up once more.

'And now, Henry, let us drink to the agreement that we have made.'

Again Ederick raised his hand only slowly. He seemed to be mesmerised by Tavington and their eyes were locked with an unnaturally rigidity. Grace noticed, however, that Ederick also shrank back in his chair, trying to put as much distance between him and Tavington as was humanly possible.

'_To our agreement_'

Tavington's eyes burned like a fireball as he drained his glass and threw it straight at the stone wall. It shattered into a mass of glittering pieces that fell into the fire grate and mingled with the embers to make jet-black diamonds; the fire that danced behind them making them glimmer in uncanny brilliance.

At the sound of the breaking glass Grace gave a small gasp. Tavington turned his eyes to the doorway. His face did not alter as he looked upon her. Ederick spun round in his chair to glare at Grace; the spell binding him to Tavington suddenly broken.

'What are you doing here?' he snapped. 'Didn't your grandfather teach you not to listen at door-ways?'

Grace forced herself to remain composed. 'I wasn't listening at the door-way, Uncle,' she said. 'I heard a glass smash and I came to see what had caused it. I don't have the slightest interest in anything you two have to say.' She feigned a yawn, preying they couldn't hear the quick rhythm of her heart. 'Particularly since all you seem to converse about is war or the tactics of war – I find it most dull.'

Grace was relieved so find that her Uncle looked slightly appeased. He got to his feet. 'Well next time you will announce your presence. I do not take kindly to nosey young girls. What Tavington and I discuss is not for your ears.'

Grace nodded. 'Yes Uncle,' she said meekly. With that Ederick stalked from the room.

Tavington had maintained his silence throughout the exchange. He was not concerned that Grace had overheard all that they had discussed as if she had then he would be able to see it in her eyes. She had heard only the latter part. Still he did not like the way that she had hidden herself in the shadows. As he looked upon her he saw that for the first time she appeared frightened. Her chin was still stuck out defiantly and she stood with an air of boldness; but the pulse in her delicate neck was beating fast and her bosom quivered beneath its lace encasing. He smiled – he intended take advantage of this weakness.

He got to his feet and crossed the room to the doorway, pleased with the way Grace physically shrunk back. 'Shall we go to bed?' he said taking her arm firmly. It was not a request.

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**Warning: What follows is a bit of fun for mature readers only – you will not lose the plot by not reading it, so if you are offended easily then turn back!**

Tavington maintained an ominous silence as he led Grace to their bedchambers, a flickering candle in his hand. Grace's mind was racing. She did not know exactly what agreement her Uncle and the Colonel might have made but she knew instinctively that whatever it was would have unpleasant consequences – the way her Uncle had shrank under Tavington's gaze, like a sail losing its wind, had told her that. She wondered if she dared question Tavington further.

'You do not appear to have quite as much to say for yourself as you did at dinner,' Tavington said interrupting her thoughts.

Grace grimaced. She had forgotten that he would still probably be angry at her. 'No,' she said, deciding that it was better to avoid the bait.

'No what?' he said, his eyebrow arching. They had reached the bedroom and he drew himself round to face her placing the candle on the oak cabinet that stood against the wall.

Grace hesitated. She knew what he was getting at but decided to play dumb. 'No I do not.'

Tavington smiled slightly, but there was no mirth in his eyes. 'No you do not, _Colonel_,' he said. 'Do not think that I have forgotten your little jibe at the dinner table Grace.'

Grace gave a small derisive snort as though she thought him ridiculous. She really felt like fleeing the room but she knew that he would prevent her from leaving. Instead she made to shrug past him. He grabbed her arms roughly and forced her to face him.

'Unhand me', she said, her anger starting to get the better of fear. 'If you cannot take a joke then that is your misfortune.'

He grabbed a handful of her hair from where it hung down her back and moved his other arm to her waist pulling her body close. He wrenched her head backwards so that she was looking directly into his eyes; her face was so near to his that he could see the reflection of his face in her flashing pupils.

'You will call me Colonel,' he said softly, 'or you will feel my hand.' Grace tried to struggle against his grip but he held her fast, his eyes locked to hers. With every movement she made the hairs that he held in his hand ripped painfully from her scalp. 'You will not speak out of turn in my presence and you will not discuss what happens between us in private.' His breath was now heavy on her face and their bodies were so close that the buckle of his belt cut into her hips. 'Neither will you hide in the darkness and listen in to personal conversations; you will remember that you are a lady. Do you understand?'

Grace could not stand to be so close to Tavington any longer. Her body was beginning to feel weak. She answered to gain her release.

'Yes, _Colonel_.'

Tavington let go of her hair almost immediately. He felt that he had won a victory over the young girl. He loosened his grip on her waist, but though she moved back slightly she did not turn away from him as he had expected. He watched her carefully.

As soon as he released her Grace knew that she was going to ask him the question that she had not dared to before. The way he had held her had made her feel strangely reckless. She braced herself, not knowing what his response would be.

'What did you agree with my Uncle, Colonel?' she said as forcefully as her nerve allowed.

Tavington did not react. He had known that she must have heard the toast to his and Ederick's agreement. However, he had scarcely expected her to question him about it. His hand itched at his side.

'That is none of your concern', he said. 'Mark that I have told you to not to speak out of turn.'

Grace couldn't prevent her next words from leaving her lips; her heart skipped a beat as she spoke, her skin tingling with trepidation. 'You tell me to mark what I say Colonel, but perhaps you should mark yourself, particularly if, as I suspect, the agreement you have made leads to the wronging of others.'

Grace tried not to flinch as Tavington lurched forward, angrily raising the back of his hand to strike her. He had come away from his evening with Joseph and then Ederick feeling confident that things would go the way he planned them and he did not need his troublesome wife to poke around in his affairs.

He did not, however, inflict the blow. In the split second it had taken him to threaten her he noticed that she had seemed to expect to be struck. He lowered his hand. He regarded her for a few moments, taking in her white papery skin, and her lips, blood-red and full. The light in her eyes danced like a moonbeam reflected in a bottomless pool and she had the air of a wild-cat about to pounce. She was annoyingly alluring when riled and Tavington felt a lust begin to overtake his anger. However, he could not let her get away with her remarks. He reached for her just as she bolted.

'Let me go!' she said desperately; but he caught her easily and wrestled her to the bed staying her kicking legs with a rippling thigh. He forced her onto her stomach holding her struggling arms tightly behind her back with one arm.

Grace was incensed. He held her firmly on her stomach, her face practically smothered in the pillow as the coarse rogue stems of the feathers poked out from the thin silk and stabbed her cheeks.

'Unhand me or I'll scream,' she spat. She did not care now who heard her. She wanted people to hear her. She wanted them to know exactly what type of a husband the noble Cornwallis had chosen for his granddaughter. Tavington was now half on top of her; he brought his head close to hers and lowered his mouth to her ear.

'Scream away if it will please you. No-one will believe that it is not the cries of ecstasy - we are, after all, on our honeymoon.'

Though Grace could not see the Colonel she could almost feel his smirk.

'In any case you seemed to be more than willing to voice your ardour in such a way on our wedding night,' he went on, the vibrations of his lips tickling her ear. Grace coloured. She remembered how she had moaned at the moment of climax.

'Now,' he went on, 'consider this your last warning. If you anger me again then I will fulfil my marital duties by thrashing obedience into you. And heed me, I will leave the door open so that the entire house hears your screams and knows that they are of your own making.'

Grace grit her teeth beneath him, her face burning crimson. She knew she was beaten. She did not doubt that he would carry out his threat.

'Good', said the Colonel.

Tavington did not release her. As soon as the expression of her fury had aroused him he had resolved to satisfy his desire. He was still exhilarated that he had gained an agreement with Ederick, who had at first been difficult to persuade, and he thought that it must be this which gave his lust an added intensity. He began to attack her neck with his mouth and tongue, working up to bite the velvety tip of her ear. He did not care whether Grace would be willing – as his wife it was her duty to humour the urges of his body. Grace struggled, but as his tongue pushed his way to the soft pad behind her earlobe he was amused to find that her arms relaxed slightly in his grip. The sleeves of her dress were cut to the bone of her shoulder and he could see that the flesh of her upper arms was raised in bumps. He didn't know whether it was the result of the chill from the open window or the way his lips worked her flesh but the sight made his manhood swell.

He spun her over, his lips curling with satisfaction as he looked into her face. He seemed to have an intoxicating effect on her; even though he had threatened to thrash her only moments before her pupils betrayed her bodily awakening and her face was as flushed with arduour.

He decided that he would not disappoint her. He reached down and ripped her dress open at the chest, tearing straight through both over and under-garments as he did so, baring her naked bosom. It was modestly full - the line of her cleavage as curved as a globe. She looked up at him in shock, her hands automatically reaching up to cover nakedness, but he wrenched them away and repositioned them above her head. He probed the soft lines of her breasts with the palms of his free hand and chafed her nipples with his fingertips. Though she was fighting, Grace could feel desire burn through her once again, building like a crescendo as he fondled her freely. He attacked her lips with venom feeling their swollen tenderness beneath them - surprised at the stirrings in his crotch which made him grope her bosom with a greedy want. He probed them roughly with the flat of his hand before repositioning his grip on her exposed thighs. Here he caressed the flesh there with firm pincers in such a way as to make Grace exhale fast and deep, her heart now racing in her breast.

Tavington could not wait any longer - the strength of his want surprising him as it had the night before. He pulled his breeches down to his ankles revealing thick imposing legs with bronze taut skin as coarse as sack-cloth; the occasional silver web marking an old injury. His body forced a path to hers like a bayonet charging the field; her limbs were pushed aside like fallen and forgotten soldiers. She gasped as he hitched her skirts up around her waist and tore her undergarments away to bury his member violently inside her body. He took her with long and swift thrusts plunging himself deeper and deeper into her depths; the intensity of his need to own her body making sweatpour into the crevices of his clothed torso.

The speed of Tavington's assault confused every nerve of Grace's body, from temple to fingertip. She felt like her body was drowning; her head being pulled further and further under so that she could think of nothing but the waves that wracked her body. At the same time, however, her body burnt and tingled in fiery pleasantness. She tried to move her arms from his, clinging to any way she could to still the passion that threatened to take her and supplant the anger and indifference she felt for the Colonel, but he held them fast above her head. She felt as though she could hardly catch her breath and yet she heard her own gasps each time he plunged forward.

Grace kept her eyes closed, remembering Tavington's warning from the night before, but in the darkness of modesty her body began to respond to his. She was powerless to stop her widening legs, and her knees bent up automatically so that they were at painful angles to her body; she rocked her hips in rhythm with his thrusts, desperate now to feel the rushes of pleasure that passed through her body every time his solid length thrust into her.

Tavington was watching Grace carefully even as he felt his body carried away by his lust, more frantic than he would have liked. He saw with satisfaction the alterations she had made to her positioning and decided to aid her by moving his hand to the ample flesh of her backside, grasping it between his fingers and using his grip as a leaver to penetrate her more violently; if she wanted him to take her hard then he would oblige her.

Grace gasped loudly in pain; so bewildering was his onslaught that in these final thrusts she could not tell whether she shrank from them or assisted their intensity. All she knew was that when her body became rigid with her climax a series of desperate moans escaped her lips and Tavington did not attempt to stifle them.

When he had finished he bent forward on his elbows still pinning her to the bed, his lips only inches from her own. 'Quite the vocal whore tonight Grace,' he said, his quiet voice filled with a firghtening malice. He managed to conceal his own shortness of breath, regaining his composure just before she opened her deep brown eyes. He turned his gaze deliberately towards the door and she glanced quickly in the same direction – Tavington had left it open. 'And dear Uncle Joseph only across the hall; I wonder what he will think?'

At these words Grace was brought back to her senses as quickly as if she had been slapped with them. She looked deep into Tavington's eyes and knew that he had somehow tricked her.

'Next time perhaps you will think before bucking under me like a filly in season; rattling the shutters with your moans.'

Grace was too humiliated to speak and Tavington once again felt his victory. He relinquished her body from his and she got to her feet to undress for bed. She felt as though the past minutes had been a strange dream. Tavington watched as she peeled away the torn and sweat-soaked garments leaving her skin cold and clammy in the chilled air of the room. He smirked – it had been a triumphant day.

**I would appreciate any reviews no matter how critical …**


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